Quotes About Emotions

Oh Susie, I often think that I will try to tell you how very dear you are, and how I'm watching for you, but the words won't come, though the tears will, and I sit down disappointed. Yet, darling, you know it all-- then why do I seek to tell you? I do not know. In thinking of those I love, my reason is all gone from me, and I do fear sometimes that I must make a hospital for the hopelessly insane, and chain myself up there so I won't injure you.

But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.

Susie, what shall I do - there is'nt room enough; not half enough, to hold what I was going to say. Wont you tell the man who makes sheets of paper, that I hav'nt the slightest respect for him!

How vain it seems to write, when one knows how to feel-- how much more near and dear to sit beside you, talk with you, hear the tones of your voice...Give me strength, Susie, write me of hope and love, and of hearts that endure...

While I was fearing it, it came,    But came with less of fear, Because that fearing it so long    Had almost made it dear.

To fight aloud is very brave, But gallanter, I know, Who charge within the bosom, The cavalry of woe.

It's such a little thing to weep - So short a thing to sigh - And yet - by Trades - the size of these We men and women die!

Now, when I read, I read not, For interrupting tears Obliterate the etchings Too costly for repairs.

and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground – because I am afraid –

I can wade grief, Whole pools of it, I 'm used to that. But the least push of joy Breaks up my feet, And I tip—drunken. Let no pebble smile, 'T was the new liquor,— That was all! Power is only pain, Stranded, through discipline, Till weights will hang. Give balm to giants, And they 'll wilt, like men. Give Himmaleh, They 'll carry him!

The small heart cannot break. The ecstasy of its penalty solaces the large.

Beauty crowds me till I die. Emily Dickinson

The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain.

Safe Despair it is that raves— Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.

I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity. Nor had I time to love ; but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me.

My Life had stood-- a Loaded Gun

Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.

There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes. Heavenly hurt it gives us;

Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

Dicen que el tiempo cura, pero el tiempo jamás cura de nada, lo que duele de veras duele más con la edad, como pasa a los tendones.

A un cuore in pezzi Nessuno s'avvicini Senza l'alto privilegio Di avere sofferto altrettanto.

When roses cease to bloom, dear

We outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer