Quotes About Emotion

Jack met Kwan's eyes, glanced away, then looked back. Jack nodded once, kind of like saying hi, but Kwan did not respond. His lean face was all planes and angles, and as warm as a granite mask. He also had a split lip and a heavy purple bruise on his cheek from the guards. Jack

The cold grew until Cole felt numb. He stared at Steve Brown's house, and wondered who these people were and if everything the woman told Pike was lies. Cole

Mills paced to the door, but didn't leave, as if he had needed motion to contain himself. "I

He snuggled closer, spooning into her back, both of them staring at nothing. Jack wondered what she was seeing. Krista

Of course." I glanced at Lucy on the deck. She and Ben were at the rail. Ben was pointing at something far down the canyon and yakking, but Lucy seemed neither to hear him nor to see. As if the other presence were out there, too, and drawing her attention. I felt my own eyes fill, but, like Angela Rossi, I also knew the tricks of survival. "We're not going to walk away, Angie. We're not going to leave you hanging.

You may be interested in why I am waiting for Adrienne to call." "I'm sure I don't want to know." "Do I detect coolness?" "You detect indifference. They are not the same.

Larkin pushed the accelerator and felt the wind lift her hair. She bore south on Vine, then east on Wilshire, laughing as her eyes grew wet. Light poles flicked past; red or green, it didn't matter and she didn't care. Honking horns were lost in the rush. Her long hair, the color of pennies, whipped and lashed. She closed her eyes, held them closed, kept them shut even longer, then popped them wide and laughed that she still flew straight and true—

The man stared at him for a time, and then said something that John Chen would recall from time to time for the rest of his life, and wonder what the man had meant, and why he had said it. "Never turn your back on love, John." The

Pike's mouth twitched, and Cole wondered if Larkin had noticed that Pike never laughed or smiled. As if the part of a man who could feel that free was dead in Pike, or buried so deep that only a twitch could escape.

Pike was silent for a moment, then simply hung up. To expect more was to be disappointed. Everett's

The first recollection started as a trickle that, as soon as I attempted to block it, found another path to weep through, the way water will always bleed through concrete, no matter how many times you patch it.

I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, & am content.

Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat & stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame crimson, and I am content......Conan the Cimmerian.

She came forward to meet him, and he saw the familiar fear in her eyes—a fear poignant now beyond enduring because he understood its cause. She blurred before his eyes, and he walked toward her blindly. When he came up to her, his eyes cleared, and he reached out across the years and touched her rain-wet cheek. She knew it was all right then, and the fear went away forever, and they walked home hand in hand in the rain.

Has confundido la necesidad con el amor?".

What you loved was the idea of rescuing me. You didn't really love me then, and you don't really love me now.

Cuando amas a alguien con la razón, el amor no puede ser constante. Cuando amas a alguien con el corazón, el amor siempre está ahí, como lo está la comprensión.

Un pensamiento puede llegar a ser un sentimiento y un sentimiento puede llegar a ser un pensamiento.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

A poet never takes notes..you never take notes in a Love Affair.

A poem is never a put-up job, so to speak. It begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is never a thought to begin with.

A poem begins with a lump in the throat

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.