Quotes About Emotion

Tension produces instantaneous anxiety, and the reader finds it delicious.

We are all writers from an early age. Most of what we write is nonfiction—essays for school, letters to friends, memoranda to colleagues—in which we are trying to pass on information. We are raised with a traditional nonfiction mind-set. Even when we write love letters, we are trying to communicate how we feel and not necessarily trying to evoke an emotion in the recipient, though that might be better suited to our purpose.

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader, not the fact that it's raining, but the feeling of being rained upon." The

Empathy is, first of all, an act of imagination, a storyteller's art

Eliza, stop crying, You let sorrow take over you; you will drown in it

Real healing begins in life, and real awakening starts to happen when we stop living through emotion and start living through love.

His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.

I remember you. You were like burning firelight in that cave, all shimmery, dancing color. I lean closer over the island, mesmerized by his words, his hand on my face. If he keeps talking this way, he's going to see me like that again. Tell me you thought about me. That you think about me now. I thought about you, I whisper, I've never stopped thinking about you. Somehow I doubt I ever will.

I will never see him again. Never know why he let me go. Never learn if he really whispered what I think he did. Beautiful.

He stares at me so darkly, so hungily that I can only nod. Agree. Of course, I feel it. I do, I admit.

I won't leave you! Do you know how unbearable it's been without you? You're not like the rest of them. His hand swipes through air almost savagely. I stare at him, my eyes wide and aching. You're not some well-trained puppy content to go along with what you're told. You have fire. He laughs brokenly. I don't mean literally, although there is that. There's something in you, Jacinda. You're the only thing real for me there, the only thing remotely interesting.

I like your sister. A lot. I look at him dumbly. He looks at me, lowers his voice to say, I like you.

He turns slightly... and smiles. Just a small smile, but lovely. Sexy.

In this, with him... I'm as close to the sky as I've ever been.

He feels it, too. His eyes widen. A lovely hazel. Green with flecks of brown and gold. The colors I love. The colors of the earth.

I'll have to admit, he really does have quite a smile. Kind of heart-stopping, especially as it comes out of nowhere. I mean... you know. If your heart was in the kind of place to be stopped.

Most people underestimate eyes. They're infinite. You look someone straight in the eye and your whole soul can be sucked out in a nanosecond. Other people's eyes are limitless and that's what scares me.

There's nothing like your mother's sympathetic voice to make you want to burst into tears.

Except...I do. Of course I do. Because as his hands gently cup my waist, I don't make a sound. As he swivels me around to face him, I don't make a sound. I don't need to. We're still talking. Every touch he makes, every imprint of his skin is like another word, another thought, a continuation of our conversation. And we're not done yet. Not yet.

My voice is clotted with unshed tears.

I can see the warmth. He's falling for me.

Don't think about it. Don't think about what could have been. It's too unbearable.

What is love? No one knows what love is, exactly. No one can define it. No one can prove it.

She was the most beautiful thing you ever saw. She was radiant. And she was wearing this necklace... When you see the necklace in the painting, it all makes sense. He loved her. Even if she lived to one hundred and five without ever getting an answer.