Quotes About Emotional

People who are drawn to journalism are usually people who, because of their cynicism or emotional detachment or reserve or whatever, are incapable of being anything but witnesses to events. Something prevents them from becoming involved, committed, and allows them to remain separate.

Alcoholic parents are so confusing, they're your parents, so you love them. But they're drunks, so you hate them. But you love them, but you hate them. They have moments when they're still the people you grew up idolizing. They have moments when you can't imagine they were anything but monsters. And then, after a while they're monsters full time. The people they used to be has enormous power over you. But the people they've turned into has no power over you at all.

How about after I'm a hundred percent, we have a hot, torrid affair. It'd be good for my emotional and mental health." "My man would crush you like a bug, skinny boy. It's too bad my sister's only eighteen." "Eighteen's legal." "You go near my baby sis, I'll put you back in this hospital.

I'd have taken anything you'd given. I'd have wrapped my own gauzy layers around it and convinced myself that it was right. But it would never have been right. I can't be happy, not really down-to-the-bone happy, with less than I need. And if I'm not happy, I can't make someone else happy.

He meant what he'd said about taking her home. His home. When she didn't argue the point, he figured she was more shaken than she'd admitted.

he'd been slapped a second time.

Her doctor called it depression, but Naomi knew that as bad as depression could be, the dark times were worse. In the dark times her mother took too many pills.

He has a need for attention, to have attention focused on him—for better or worse. The worst punishment I can give him is to ignore him, which I've done, fairly successfully

Football allows the intellectual part of my brain to evolve, but it allows the emotional part to remain unchanged. It has a liberal cerebellum and a reactionary heart. And this is all I want from everything, all the time, always.

Many long-term relationships begin with a physical attraction that evolves into a state of mutual appreciation; it's not impossible to imagine that process happening in reverse.

Unless cataclysmic events are actively breaking, the purpose of cable news is emotional reassurance.

Just for the record, the weather today is increasing turmoil with a possible physical and emotional breakdown.

The truth is you can be or­phaned again and again and again. The truth is you will be. And the se­cret is, this will hurt less and less each time un­til you can't feel a thing.

Give me needy emotional whining bullshit. Flash. Give me self-absorbed egocentric twaddle. Christ.

Protagonista: Por favor, doctor. Estoy sufriendo. —Doctor: ¿Quieres ver sufrimiento? Visita el pabellón de cáncer testicular. Eso es dolor.

THIS IS WHY I loved the support groups so much, if people thought you were dying, they gave you their full attention.

If I had a tumor, I'd name it Marla.

Instead of writing about a character, write from within the character.

He just—he takes it all on the chin sometimes. Emotionally, I mean. I think his therapist calls it 'empathic,' I dunno. It's hard on him, even looking at the news—whatever bad news is going on that day. It's a burden. Wears him down.

Just because you're sad or weak doesn't give you the right to hurt others. But no matter how hard you try, as long as you're alive, you'll have to inconvenience someone. Maybe the act of living has nothing to do with dreams or ideals. Perhaps it's more a matter of how much trouble you cause for others ... and how you redeem yourself.

One of my dinner companions invited me on a strip-club excursion. I demurred, spoiled by the erotic revues of Anhedonia, where the performers remain fully clothed but get emotionally naked, delivering monologues about their top-shelf disappointments, and times when they were almost happy. Hard to enjoy American-style strip clubs after that. Once you go bleak, you never go back.

Hipsters seek refuge in church, Our Lady of Perpetual Subculture. There is some discussion as to whether or not they are still cool but then they are calmed by the obscure location and the arrival of their kind. Keep the address to yourself, let the rabble fund it themselves. Wow, this crappy performance art is really making me feel no so terrible about my various emotional issues.

He had nerve damage: input could not penetrate. The world stalled out at his edges. Sometimes he had trouble speaking to other people, rummaging for language, and it seemed to him that an invisible layer divided him from the rest of the world, a membrane of emotional surface tension.

I was like a whirlpool of tragedy, and anybody who dared to get too close to me could get sucked in and drown. Like I was drowning right now.