Quotes About Emotion

They say the blues is sad, but when B.B. sings 'I got a sweet little angel, I love the way she spreads her wings,' that don't sound too sad to me!

How sad the world is, so beautiful yet so absurd.

Authentic men aren't afraid to show affection, release their feelings, hug their children, cry when they're sad, admit it when they're wrong, and ask for help when they need it.

I never understood the point of being sad when I could choose to be happy

There is nothing sweeter in this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name.

Being Doctor Who, I used to look at the clock and know at half past four we were going to stop rehearsing - and that was a sad moment for me because I wanted to stay in this beautiful, unreal world.

The colour of my soul is iron-grey and sad bats wheel about the steeple of my dreams.

Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town!

Tears come from the heart and not from the brain

When I'm sad, she comes to me with a thousand smiles.

It was sad and fierce all at once, alive with a lonely purity.

Tutto ciò che di grande e bello c'è al mondo, gratta gratta, non è mai nato da un discorso razionale. Mai.

Some love one, some love two. I love one, and that is you."

I suppose even a woman's hatred is a kind of love.

After all, only women are able really to love.

The baby understands that its mother loves it. [...] Words have their origin in baby talk, so words have their origin in love.

Weißt Du, daß es außer den über dreißig Farben in einem Farbtub-Kasten noch eine weitere, für Menschenaugen sehr wohl sichtbare Farbe gibt — die der Traurigkeit?

The only business of the head in the world is to bow a ceaseless obeisance to the heart.

I had thought for no one's but your ears; That you were beautiful and that I strove To love you in the old high way of love; That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown As weary hearted as that hollow moon.

My love turns me like a salt sea, it seems, Into sweet drops of autumn's first rain. I'm brought to you slowly as I fall. Take me in. For us there's no angel who will come to redeem. For we are together. Each of us alone.

I'm like a rifle that's a little out of date but very accurate: when I love, there's a strong recoil, back to childhood, and it hurts.

Poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers.

What the self-styled modern artists are doing is a sort of unemotional pseudo-intellectual masturabtion … whereas creative art is more like intercourse, in which the artist must seduce -- render emotional -- his audience, each time.

The whole of life, in all its complexity and beauty, has been etched into the gold of words.