Quotes About Emotions

I am tired of tears and laughter,And men that laugh and weep;Of what may come hereafterFor men that sow and reap:I am weary of days and hours,Blown buds of barren flowers,Desires and dreams and powersAnd everything but sleep.

Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free; Love me no more, but love my love of thee.

O brother, the gods were good to you. Sleep, and be glad while the world endures. Be well content as the years wear through; Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures; Give thanks for life, O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart, Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart; And deep in one is the bitter root, And sweet for one is the lifelong flower.

I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

Hearts of people are like wild beasts. They attach themselves to those who love and train them.

Wealth is the fountain head of passions.

Often your utterances and expressions of your face leak out the secrets of your hidden thoughts.

Have love for your friend up to a limit for it is possible he may turn into your enemy some day; and hate your enemy up to a limit for it is possible he may turn into your friend some day.

A game one of my sisters will play with me in my first year of being alive is called Good Baby, Bad Baby. This consists of being told I am a good baby until I smile and laugh, then being told I am a bad baby until I burst into tears. This training will stand me in good stead all through my life.

Somehow this wasn't the same as melancholy. It was something else, about how melancholy and nostalgia weren't relevant in the slightest. Things just happened. Then they were over. Time just passed. Partly it felt unpleasant, to think like that, rude even. Partly it felt good. It was kind of a relief.

How are you feeling? Mrs Rock said. I'm okay, George said. I think it's because I don't think I am. You're okay because you don't think you're okay? Mrs Rock said. Feeling, George said. I think I'm okay because I don't think I'm feeling.

I went outside mournful, and I hit pure air.

Best on the whole not to watch it at all : love is best felt : the acts of love are hard and disillusioning to view like this unless done by the greatest master picturemakers : otherwise the seeing of them being done and enjoyed by figurations of other people will always lock you outside them (unless your pleasure comes from taking solo pleasure or pleasure at one remove, in which case, yes, that's your pleasure).

But love was terribly important. She didn't mean romantic love. Generalized sort of love.

EM Forster, though, saw it a little more evenhandedly: 'when human beings love they try to get something. They also try to give something, and this double aim makes love more complicated than food or sleep. It is selfish and altruistic at the same time, and no amount of specialization in one direction quite atrophies the other.

But pure joy! He'd forgotten what it feels like, to feel. To feel even just the thought of one's own bared self near someone else's beauty.

Somehow this wasn't the same as melancholy. It was something else, about how melancholy and nostalgia weren't relevant in the slightest. Things just happened. Then they were over. Time just passed. Partly it felt unpleasant, to think like that, rude even. Partly it felt good. It was kind of a relief.

He was clearly in love with Amber too, and this time it wasn't the usual water off the back of the duck. Instead, the duck, wounded by a hunter and bewildered because half its head had been shot way, and was still tottering about on its webby feet by the side of the pond. From the one side it looked like a duck usually looks. From the other, it was a different story.

It would be good to be full of holes, she says. Then all the things you can't express would maybe just flow out.

The head has its confines. The head's got those all right, and the heart. The heart has its reasons.

It's so warm it's almost friendly. A friendly work of art. I've never thought such a thing in my life. And look at it. It's never sentimental. It's generous, but it's sardonic too. And whenever it's sardonic, a moment later it's generous again.

It's good, to be seen past, as if you're not the only one, as if everything isn't happening just to you. Because you're not. And it isn't.