Quotes About Emotions

try hard not to say things like this, but every once in a while my need to prove a point, such a base and unattractive need, rises up and I meet it by telling him things that he doesn't need to hear.

all happiness is fleeting, but I see now that there is fleeting and then there is the true and wall-like impossibility of ever experiencing this kind of happiness again, even once, even next week, let alone a year from now. Doors are closing around us, all the time.

This is not true, that nothing bad will happen, and therefore not comforting to me. It leaves me quite alone with reality, but the way he feels is exactly what I want for him.

This was one of those moments when I realized that my emotional baggage, once a few neatly packed pieces, was now like the Joads' truck, stacked high with old clothes, half a rocking chair, a mule, all barely secured with twine.

She can paint a pretty picture but this story has a twist. The paintbrush is a razor and the canvas is her wrist.

And wishes, truly wishes, that she could say the same herself. Because hurting herself would be so much easier.

Sir... I... don't want... to... be... here," I said between sobs. There, I'd said it. Now everyone would be happy- Cadet Daily, my mother... Yes, you do, Davis." No, sir... I don't," I gasped. Homesick?" I shook my head from side to side. "No... sir... it's too much... like home.

Devon? Are you okay?" For the first time, Dom's voice sounds unsure. Devon sats nothing, not one word. She pushes herself up. She slides the papers toward herself. She slowly folds them into quarters. She closes her hand around them. Devon lifts her face to Dom's. Is she "okay"? Will she ever, ever be okay?

Devon stares at him standing there, remembering the only other guy had ever opened a car door for her. Last summer. The sky was bright blue mirroring the water, the sun warm. A perfect day. He had smiled down at her; he'd That Look in his eyes- warm and eager and a little bit vulnerable. When he'd look at her in that way, and smile that tilted smile, her body would tingle with an electric tension that robbed her breath away. That was then. And now? Now she is here.

My dad is dead. And as I type this, by the window, on the rainy day, I am alive, yes. I am living. But sometimes it doesn't feel like I am doing it fast enough, or hard enough, or all the way. And it is times like that when I can understand wanting a cigarette in my hand, then my mouth, then my hand again. Holding the cigarette. Tending to the cigarette. Giving the cigarette what it needs. Tapping it in the ashtray. Sucking on it. Then flicking it in the street, like it meant nothing to me.

Love doesn't break easily, I found. But people do.

But love like that can be too big, too. It can be something you shouldn't be trusted to hold when you're the kind of person who drops the eggs and breaks the remote control.

It wasn't love right away, because nothing ever is no matter what the songs say, but it was the start of it. A beginning in one way, and the end in another. I think that might always be true of love.

Whoever decided that love should hurt sucks. It's been silent for too long, and I watch as Mom wipes a tear off her cheek. Whoever decided that life should hurt sucks even more.

Love like that is what they make movies about. It's the thing you're supposed to want, the answer to every question, the song that you're supposed to sing. But love like that can be too big, too. It can be something you shouldn't be trusted to hold when you're the kind of person who drops the eggs and breaks the remote control. Love doesn't break easily, I found. But people do.

Life goes by really fast, and it seems that there are times when you're burying a lot of friends and family. And then there are times that feel really precious and everybody is doing okay. This is one of those times.

The backdrop of half the experiences of life includes music.

The worst of it is over now, and I can't say that I am glad. Lose that sense of loss--you have gone and lost something else.

Well, you know, I'm passionate about that. I just feel that we need to help children from the earliest time to realize that there are ways that they can express how they feel, ways that aren't hurtful.

When our children were old enough to communicate, I would try to talk them out of their negative feelings—or convince them there was no foundation for them. But what I found out is that suppressing feelings has the same fate as trying to suppress a beachball in the ocean—they both come out sideways.

Just as he heralded the importance of expressing other kinds of emotions, Fred felt it essential to give others permission to grieve over the losses in their lives. He learned that lesson himself when he was six years old.

A concept Fred likely learned in his graduate studies in child development, sublimation is the process by which socially unacceptable behaviors are channeled—sublimated—into more socially acceptable ways.

The world needs to learn to know what to do with negative feelings," he told me, explaining his motivation for writing the song. "It's so easy to pick up a gun and shoot somebody. It's so much healthier—and so much more dramatic—to work out something interpersonally with somebody and to come to a resolution that means weal in both people's life.

Later he would counsel parents to allow their children to act out their feelings through puppets, as a way to bring some distance between the children and their difficult emotions.