Quotes About Emotion

I love you, Jade. I have for a long time, and I'm sure not going to stop now." She

He watched her now, peeling away from her great-aunts. Even with the fake smile, she was the most beautiful woman in the room, with her long dark hair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes. She was long-legged, with curves in all the right places. But that wasn't why she'd dug so deeply under his skin. No, it was her feisty spirit that drew him most. The way her eyes sparked with emotion. The way she stood up for herself and those she cared about. Layla was flat-out amazing.

He cupped her face, his eyes mingling with hers. "Stay," he whispered. "Please." She could deny him nothing when he looked at her that way. When he spoke to her that way. They'd stay for a week. Just one more week. What would it hurt?

I missed you most of all, you know," he said. "You were my best friend.

His lips began moving with the lyrics. Every long-lost dream . . . He was singing them to her, and she wanted to believe he meant them. Believe he felt the way the song's writer had, that the other women had only been a sign pointing him back to her.

There was warmth and affection in his gaze. A tender caring that made her want to stretch toward him like a sunflower reaching toward the sun's heat.

Jade's heart had already been shattered into a thousand pieces, and there was no putting it back together. Even if there were, Jade wasn't interested. Loving Aaron had been like magic, but losing him had been a kind of hell she never wanted to experience again.

Since Stephen had arrived, Jake had gone over and over the way Meridith had greeted him. The way he'd greeted her, with an apathetic kiss and a tame hello. If it had been him, missing his woman for weeks, he'd have swept her into his arms and kissed her until they were both breathless. He didn't get it. Movement

Two by two in the ark ofthe ache of it.

When I am a woman — O, when I am a woman, my wells of salt brim and brim, poems force the lock of my throat.

Hugh Kenner, in a lecture, beautifully defined what poets seek if they really are poets) as "the power to make things as moving as the things they have been moved by.

The poem has a social effect of some kind whether or not the poet wills it to have. It has a kenetic force, it sets in motion...elements in the reader that would otherwise remain stagnant.

His head was tipped back, eyes shut tight as he murdered Neil Young's "Heart of Gold.

Oh God, Leon's laugh. So dark and wild you could drown a bag of kittens in it.

Sorg är ett ärr. Vävnaden blir hård och när såret går upp igen läker det dåligt.

I'd like to say I found a sublime beauty in it all, but I didn't. And yet. And yet, this life we'd built filled our car

I love playing football, being out on the pitch with a ball, and I will be a little sad when that ends.

But Henry didn't care how sexily I described the idea of him dead. He just listened and nodded like I was giving him directions to the next town.

not yet knowing myself in the slightest, I'd done nothing but convince myself I was in love with one cute, suicidal basket case after another.

Love: a hybrid emotion made up of various other emotions collaged by some weak individual's mind to try to quell a particular horror that's not been wiped out by more standardized symbols like Christ, etc. Nietzsche, right? Whatever.

Poetry is plucking at the heartstrings, and making music with them.

He wanted to ask her what sound a heart made when it broke from pleasure, when just the sight of someone filled you the way food, blood, and air never could, when you felt as if you'd been born for only one moment and this, for whatever reason, was it.

I loved this woman the way you love ... well, nothing," he said, a note of suprise in his voice. "You can't compare that kind of love to anything, can you? It's its own unique gift.

and she was so simply his love, his girl, watching him approach as if she were memorizing him and his walk and those flowers and this moment, and he wanted to ask her what sound a heart made when it broke from pleasure, when just the sight of someone filled you the way food, blood, and air never could...