Quotes About Emotion

I am much fucking angrier than you think.

I've faked orgasms before, but this is the first time I've faked not having an orgasm.

She's talking about herself in the third person because the idea of being who she is, of acknowledging that she is herself, is more than her pride can take.

I use poetry to help me work through what I don't understand, but I show up to each new poem with a backpack full of everywhere else that I've been.

My world was the size of a crayon box, and it took every colour to draw her

When I kissed him goodnight he said, Again! and I kissed him again.

Sincerity that pure was impossible to include in my life then, and I had to turn away. It was like looking at the sun.

I'm not talking about fucking; I'm talking about intimacy. One used to fade into the other, and sometimes I forget I've learned the difference.

Others were in love. Desire abandoned them all.

I wasn't afraid of him; I was afraid of my feeling. It was more powerful than God. If we'd ever spoken it might have burned the whole place down.

The background of my life was white and angry, with violent weather.

There are two kinds of people: those who can't perform the act when they're sad and those who perform it only to escape sadness.

One cannot convince another to love anything or anyone.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Always have, probably always will. Happy?" she said. He stopped when he was standing mere inches away. Reaching out, he captured her face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs across her cheekbones to clear her tears. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that," he said.

She didn't sound overjoyed. She didn't sound even slightly joyed.

He couldn't just come right out with it, could he? No, that would scare her off. He had to be subtle, build up to it. Explain himself. "I love you." Of course, straight to the point was also an effective strategy.

Just leave me alone, I want to be alone," she said when Jack tried to open the car door. She hit the lock, and wound the window up. Since the roof was down, it was a fairly pointless exercise.

For the rest of his life he'd remember how she looked in that moment as she put her mark on his soul with four little words. "I've made my choice.

Hey, sweet talk isn't supposed to make you cry." "I think you're out of luck." "Because that was too corny?" "Because I blinked and you didn't go away. You're real." He felt the same way. The joy that she was here, the lingering panic that it was just another dream he'd wake up from, her name an echo of desperate hope in his head.

I think often sadness is a great place to get songs from.

I love you: You imagine hearing the words from someone not related to you, someone not your best friend, but when someone you love, someone you dream about, actually says them, it makes your body melt and your breath get caught in your chest.

I love you." You imagine hearing the words from someone related not related to you, someone not your best friend, but when someone you love, you dream about, actually says them, it makes your body melt and your breath get caught in your chest. "You love me?" I asked, leaning toward him. He nodded. "Say it again" I said. I let my knee bump against his. "I love you," he repeated.

Felix just sat there, not smirking exactly - or not so as you could call him on it - but clearly happy with how unhappy he'd managed to make all of us.

Well fuck me sideways 'til I cry