Quotes About Emotions

When she is happy, she can't stop talking, when she is sad she doesn't say a word.

I did the searching and remembering, she did the disappearing and the forgetting.

Live, laugh, love. When you can feel someone else's pain and joy as if it's your own, thats when you know you really love them - Tina Lowell

I was supposed to write a romantic comedy, but my characters broke up.

She went around with a broken heart, and she wasn't sure who'd broken it. She thought it was herself, mostly.

He wanted to take his love back from her so badly. The old techniques didn't work anymore. In fact, they'd never worked. How do you stop loving someone? It was one of the world's more brutal mysteries. The more you tried, the less it worked.

No," Tiamat said, as if she knew what I was feeling. "You are not as hideous as you think. For women, hair is like hope. It is never absent forever.

His optimistic dream of the great American adventure was what made his writing alive, his belief in the essential joyousness of following his own emotions and being excited by the promise of life.

Angela yelled. Realizing she was dangerously out of control—in the last couple of hours, she'd begun to understand why gerbil parents sometimes ate their young—she

she thought envy was the most destructive of emotions. It ate away at your guts and your brain and it stopped you thinking straight. Envy and jealousy.

I find it difficult to sleep. A sort of daydream, perhaps, reliving old times, trying to capture something of her, while there's still a flavour of her in the house. It's real, you know. A perfume. The shampoo she used, I think. Something else I can't pin down. I know it won't last for long.

Perhaps that was why she drove so fast, because she didn't want the girl to have the same sort of memories of childhood that she'd been left with: the fear in the pit of the stomach and the longing to be home in a familiar place.

Guilt always made her ratty.

It was sudden thoughts about the things Maggie would have liked or pieces of gossip that he'd like to pass on that made grief come back and bite him on the bum.

As always after a trip home, he wondered why he found it so difficult to get on with his father. There were never arguments, no real antagonism, but he always left feeling an edgy mixture of guilt and inadequacy.

Perhaps it was healthier to hate your mother. Perhaps she should be grateful that Margaret had treated her like shit.

There hadn't even been the casual bad language she used herself to show that she was tired or cross. But still he'd shocked them because his anger was deep and real. They'd spent a week carefully putting words together, but his rage had a greater effect than any of their stories.

A tad jealous. She didn't have any personal experience of happy families.

Before she spoke again, he cut off her call because he didn't need her misery as well as his own

Here it seemed hope and the possibility of redemption abounded. It made Jen feel like punching someone.

Since the funeral there had been an undercurrent of tension, a tetchiness

She pretended to be a dutiful daughter, yet there were times when she wished her mother was dead. Even her friendship with Catherine hadn't been what it seemed and it had been a real effort to keep the resentment and jealousy from floating to the surface. Sometimes the effort of all that acting made her feel weird, cut off. Like she was looking down at herself.

Ah pet, I've been wandering down memory lane. Not always a comfortable place to be.

She thought that if these weren't witnesses, she'd like them as friends; she suddenly felt strangely lonely.