Quotes About Emotions

Whether you CAN forgive and whether you SHOULD trust.

As I listen to Darcy breathing in the dark beside me, I wonder how we got to this. How we could be in love with the same person. How I coudl be sabotaging my best friend's engagement. In the final seconds before sleep, I wish I could go back and undo everything, give those little girls another chance.

I just wonder if sheer force of will to forgive can be enough to set things right Because after all, power is one thing. Love is a different creature altogether.

Life was good then, I though, as I started to cry. Not so much because I missed the good times, although I did. It was more that I knew I was turning into one of those girls who, upon looking at high school photos, feels wistful.

Because Marian was the love of my life. For a long time. And that's the kind of information you share when you're young and stupid and hoping that you're in something that is going to be even bigger and better than what you once lost. It's the kind of shit you waste your time thinking about. Lemme tell you -- it does no good.

Love made things feel precarious, and, when you got right down to it, everything in life was tenuous and fleeting and ultimately tragic.

I think of how emotions seem so magnified when you're a child. Joy is more all-encompassing, disappointments more crushing, hope more palpable.

I know that the problem isn't the dream per se. It was the way I felt afterward, once awake.

Much later, she would go back and read the entry, and think to herself that memories were that way, too. When you wanted to forget, everything would return in raw, brutal focus. When you wanted to remember, the details would slip away like a dream at dawn.

I just think that I screwed up what could have turned into a more significant relationship, or at least a lasting friendship.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart

I don't love him, period. I didn't love him before this. I cared about him. And I wanted to love him. Maybe I could have grown to love him. But those feelings just weren't there. I liked the idea of him. It was exciting. He was exciting. Too exciting.

I think my sister Daphne's obsession with having children has a lot to do with wanting to erase the pain my mother caused. On one level, Daphne's approach makes more sense. Yet the thought of a redo is not only unappealing, but terrifying. I don't want that kind of power over anyone. I don't want to be something that someone has to overcome. After all, I think everyone would agree that it's far worse to be a fucked-up mother than it is to have one.

It's like when someone dies, the initial stages of grief seem to be the worst. But in some ways, it's sadder as time goes by and you consider how much they're missed in your life. In the world.

But it's not that simple or clear-cut—and I wonder if it ever is when it comes to matters of the heart.

Songs and smells will bring you back to a moment in time more than anything else. It's amazing how much can be conjured with a few notes of a song or a solitary whiff of a room. A song you didn't even pay attention to at the time, a place that you didn't even know had a particular smell.

It's like when someone dies, the initial stages of grief seem to be the worst. But in some ways, it's sadder as time goes by and you consider how much they've missed in your life. In the world.

That either (a) she uses children to hide her real adult emotions, or (b) she is still a child herself.

And although one broken heart doesn't make me an expert in the subject, I believe you need both things—time and an emotional replacement—to fully mend one.

or are there always shades of gray when it comes to matters of the heart?

That although I love Nick, on most days I don't think he lassoed the moon

It occurs to me that as different as we are in our behavior and decisions, our most basic, knee-jerk emotional reactions to really big things are often remarkably similar. And it is in these moments that I am most grateful for my sister.

Underscoring all of this is Leo—his constant presence in my mind, along with the troubling realization that I deeply associate him with the city and vice versa. So much so, in fact, that leaving New York feels an awful lot like leaving him.

I ever stop loving him the way you're supposed to stop loving everyone but the one you're with? If the answer is no, then will the lapse of time or a change of geography really fix the problem? And regardless of the answer, what does the mere question say about my relationship with Andy?