Quotes About Emotional

My body recognized him before my mind did. His arms beat against the water in a brutally efficient butterfly stroke. And his back muscles…

If there's one thing the Hawthorne family isn't it's fine. They were a twisted, broken mess before you got here, and they'll be a twisted, broken mess once you're gone.

No," Max corrected. "You and I are friends. Grayson is the physical manifestation of your avoidant attachment style. He won't let himself want you. You don't want to want to be wanted. Everybody stays at arm's length. Nobody gets hurt, and nobody gets any.

I never got the chance to finish that sentence, because the next thing I knew, Mrs. Laughlin was hugging me, holding on to me for dear life.

As she rattles on, about Violet, about Gemma Sterling, about the Bartlett Dirt, I don't say anything else. I suddenly don't want Bren or Charlie to talk about Violet, because I want to keep her to myself, like the Christmas I was eight—back when Christmases were still good—and got my first guitar, which I named No Trespassing, as in no one could touch it but me.

It's exhausting, constantly having to search for the people you love.

Apparently, I'm tragic and dangerous.

Trapped behind the wall I've built around myself, unable to move or breathe or do anything but keep building it up around me, brick by brick, fast as I can.

You can't always be fine. No one's always fine. And I know you're used to being on your own, and I know I should have been a better friend so that you didn't have to get used to being on your own, but I'm here now, and I wish you'd talk to me

You are a survivor, and as that unwelcome designation implies, your survival - your emotional survival - will depend on how well you learn to cope with your tragedy. The bad new: Surviving this will be the second worst experience of your life. The good news: The worst is already over.

She still remembered sitting for hours as a little girl and pretending to be a hassock. A foot stool. Because if she could just stay very small, and very quiet, her mother would forget she was there, and then she wouldn't scream about people and places and things that had gone wrong.

She knew by some sure instinct that when you had come right up against it, as Jeff had, you had no use for people who advised you to brace up, or who pointed out bright spots. She know that there is nothing so infuriating, when you are bearing all you can, as shallow, unrealistic optimism from someone who has not experienced the same disaster.

She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too brightly for this world.

I brought him down one evening and just set him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and, since then, my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near.

You can't quantify love, and if you try, you can wind up focusing on misleading factors. Stuff that has really has more to do with personality- the fact that some people are simply more expressive or emotional or needy in a relationship. But beyond such smokescreens, the answer is there. Love is seldom- almost never -even proposition. Someone always loves more.

It's a matter of curiosity—and anyone who says they are utterly indifferent to what their significant exes are doing is, in my opinion, either lying or lacking a certain amount of emotional depth. I'm not saying it's healthy to be past-obsessed, ferreting out details of every ex. But it's simply human nature to have an occasional, fleeting interest in someone whom you once loved.

I exposed every part of myself to him, keeping no secrets, no defense mechanism in place.

What this good man had sworn to protect me from was not the same as what I feared. I trusted that he would never let anything hurt me, but he would never let anything touch me either.

It's like he has emotional amnesia... I think you have to accept that the person you knew isn't there at the moment. I was witness to how much he loved you. I have the photos. This isn't the person we knew. I don't recognize this person. He's shed his skin. Her heart is broken too. She has to say the thing that will give me back my life. She draws on every reserve. I see how much it hurts her and it hurts me too. I came from her joy and her pain, I lived in it and I live in it now.

A metaphorical weight lifted from his allegorical chest and Artemis Fowl felt himself again.

I'm on my feet, pacing around the room, punching a fist into my palm, which I stop doing when I realise how drama queen it feels.

Naturally, we lunatics are the kindest of the bunch.

Ik weet het nog goed,' begon Wurm melodramatisch. 'Het was een donkere nacht.

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