Quotes About Emotions

That's how we are! Afraid of our feelings. And when we become aware of them we immediately think we are swindlers.

What if he were to open his mouth and cry out! But he only weeps, his head turned aside. He does not speak of his mother of his brothers or his sisters. He says nothing; all that lies behind him; he is entirely alone now with his little life of nineteen years, and cries because it leaves him.

?ovek se hvata samo u svojim vlastitim snovima - a nikad u tu?im. ?ovek se hvata ili gubi.

I felt today when the night melted away into a flowering bush and the wind smelled of strawberries and without love one is only a dead man on furlough, nothing but a scrap of paper with a few dates and a chance name on it and one might as well die

Biz art?k o eski tasas?zlar deÄŸiliz; biz ÅŸimdi müthiÅŸ vurdumduymaz olduk. ÖlmeyeceÄŸiz ama yaÅŸayacak m?y?z? Kimsesiz çocuklar gibi b?rak?lm??, yaÅŸl? insanlar gibi görmüÅŸ geçirmiÅŸiz; kabay?z, üzgünüz, sat?htay?z... galiba mahvolmuÅŸuz.

Hteo sam nešto da kažem, ali nisam mogao. Teško je na?i re?i kad treba nešto stvarno kazati. A kad na?emo potrebne re?i, onda se stidimo da ih izgovorimo. Sve te re?i pripadaju prošlim vekovima. Naše doba još nema izraze za svoja ose?anja. Ona mogu da budu samo drugarska - sve ostalo nije pravo. - Pat - rekoh joj. - Stari hrabri druže...

How various is a face; but an hour ago it was strange and it is now touched with a tenderness that comes, not from it, but from out of the night, the world and the blood, all these things seem to shine in it together.

Osje?ao sam se trom i spor i mrzio sam sebe što Heleni ne mogu bolje da pokažem koliko je volim ti tom trenutku. Morala je misliti da oklijevam zato što je ne želim, a ne zato što je toliko mnogo želim.

Naids ir k? sk?be, kas saÄ"d dvÄ"­seli, vienalga, vai ienÄ«sti pats, vai arÄ« tevi ienÄ«st.

Kartais žmogus netenki dr?sos, - tar? Nataša. - O kitais kartais pamanai, kad prie nusivylim? galima priprasti. Bet taip n?ra. Kiekvien? kart? jie vis labiau skaudina. Jie taip skaudina, kad žmog? pagauna baim?. Atrodo, kad kiekvien? kart? atsiranda vis didesni nudegimai. Ir kiekvien? kart? jie vis l??iau gyja.

Korraga valdab mind aja nimetu raskemeelsus - see voolab ja voolab ning muutub, ja kui sa naased, ei leia sa enam midagi taas. Hüvasti jätta on raske - kuid naasta on vahel veelgi raskem.

We march up, moody or good-tempered soldiers - we reach the zone where the front begins and become on the instant human animals.

Gândurile nu pot tr?i f?r? mângâiere È™i am?gire;se z?p?cesc în faÈ›a imaginii nude a disper?rii.

Ništa nije opasnije od žene kaja sve voli. Kako da ?ovek onda udesi da voli samo njega?

And we stand still again, and suddenly we feel that everything out there in front of us, that absolute hell, that ragged patch of shell-holes, is still there inside us.

TÉ™kcÉ™ onu görürdü vÉ™ bilirdi ki, onu belÉ™ sirli-soraql? elÉ™yÉ™n özünün vurÄŸun könlüdür. Bilirdi ki, bundan da q???ng,bundan da a??ll?, bundan da saf üzlÉ™r var. Ancaq onu da bilirdi ki, baÅŸqa üz yox,mÉ™hz bu üz onun qÉ™lbinÉ™ hakim kÉ™silib. Bu hakimliyi dÉ™ ona özü vermiÅŸdi!

On devient mélancolique lorsqu'on pense à la vie... cynique lorsqu'on voit ce qu'en font la plupart des gens.

Kad se želi živeti, onda se još nešto i voli. Tada je teže, ali i lakše. Eto, ja bih i onako morala da umrem, a sad sam zadovoljna što imam tebe. Mogla sam biti sama i nesre?na. Tada bih želela da umrem. Ovako je teže, ali sam puna ljubavi, kao p?ela meda kad se uve?e vra?a u košnicu. Kad bih mogla da biram, uvek bih izabrala ovo isto.

Ne?emo se više ni skim sastajati. Prava ljubav ne podnosi svet. I onda ne?e biti ni nastupa ljubomore, ni loma.

But every gasp lays my heart bare. This dying man has time with him, he has an invisible dagger with which he stabs me: Time and my thoughts.

Nikad ne treba da me ?ekaš. Strašno je ?ekati. - Ti, Robi, baš ništa ne razumeš. Strašno je samo kad nema šta da se ?eka.

They are not really thoughts; they are memories that come to torment me in my weakness and put me into a strange mood. Up go

You have Weltschmerz. Don't try and fight against it. Life is gay but imperfect.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us, we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.