Quotes About Emotion

Christopher explains that he ranks the day according to the number and color of the cars he sees on his way to school. Three red cars in a row equal a Good Day, and five equal a Super Good Day. Four yellow cars in a row make it a Black Day. On Black Days Christopher refuses to speak to anyone and sits by himself at lunch.

Mad as a fucking hatter. Jesus

And one of the friends died of fear that very nice and the other two were broken men for the rest of their lives.

He wanted to make her feel good. She couldn't remember the last time someone had done that. He

Father was standing in the corridor. He held up his right hand and spread his fingers out in a fan. I held up my left hand and spread my fingers out in a fan and we made our fingers and thumbs touch each other. We do this because sometimes Father wants to give me a hug, but I do not like hugging people, so we do this instead, and it means that he loves me.

He is the only man she has ever loved, and he has dumped her like ballast. She needs to find an explanation that does not make her a fool and him an animal, but every thought of him is a knife turning in the wound love made.

She is off the heart's map and her compass is spinning.

and when i try and make a picture of the phrase in my head it just confuses me because an apple in someone's eye doesn't have anything to do with liking someone a lot and it just makes you forget what the person was talking about

Poetry scares her, with its glimpses of the abyss between the slats of the swaying bridge.

He hated it as if he were about to love it—unforgivingly, irrationally, sadly.

To be in New York on a beautiful day is to feel razor close to being in love.

I didn't know the world could be like this ... I've never seen the sky in such a passion of kindness.

She could hear in the traffic a white sound that threw veils across the present and allowed her to hold the scene to her the way that she held her own children—fighting time, conquered by it, ravished by it. For she believed that only through love can one feel the terrible pain of time, and then make it completely still.

The way she looked at him, and he knew it, it was clear that she was seeking someone she could love, someone who would love her as if she were once again a girl and the world was young. There was no question that he was capable of such a thing. She could see it in his face and read it in his every expression.

And I love you.' she said her heart buoyant. She really did love him, although each time she said it and he could not reply, she loved him perhaps a little less.

This extraordinary young woman does not photograph like a model (so many of whom seem unalive, unpleasant, and stupid), because her beauty is not fixed but the result of what she is as she moves and speaks. The life within her is what makes him love her, and he thinks how lucky he is to have met her when both of them are so young.

He wanted more than anything in the world to embrace her. But it seemed out of the question. Then she turned to him and stretched out her arms. And he went to her as if he had been born for it.

Her eyes showed that though she may have decided to regret him, as long as he was in her presence she could not.

Recollection could be more powerful and more perilous than experience itself.

A young girl, a frailty, simple and true, who had been unable to stand up from the piano and had had to be carried; a girl half his age; a girl who could not shoot a gun, had never been in an oyster house, atop a tower, or under the wharves; a girl hotter always than noon in August; a girl who knew nothing; had thrown him so hard that he would be out of breath forever.

Craig Binky siedziaÅ' w widocznym miejscu i to, co nastÄ…piÅ'o w tej chwili, nie umkn??o uwadze ani jednej osoby. ZÅ'apaÅ' siÄ™ za pierÅ› i brew, jakby dostaÅ' zawaÅ'u i udaru jednoczeÅ›nie, po czym zaczÄ…Å' siÄ™ krzywi?, wykonujÄ…c seriÄ™ min, których ekspresja zawstydziÅ'aby prawdziwego mima.

and she speculated that the city would be cold, completely of itself, unconscious, that its every move would be transcendent, and that each of its hundred million flashing scenes would strike a moral lesson. Such a city would extend vision, intensify pity, telescope emotion, and float the heart the way the sea is gently buoyant with great ships. To do this it would have to be a cold instrument. And, despite its beauty, it would have to be cruel.

We are so unused to emotion that we mistake any depth of feeling for sadness, any sense of the unknown for fear, and any sense of peace for boredom.

The key elements of storytelling are love, mystery & conflict.