Quotes About Emotion

Ms. Harrison paled so that the makeup floated on her suddenly pale skin like impressionist water lilies.

If you're doing it right, love makes you more of who you are, not less

love can die from being withheld, like a flower that is so beautiful you hide it away from the sun trying to make it last longer; but every flower needs sun, and being in love requires risking yourself. It can require risking everything you are, not just in battle, but emotionally. Sometimes you have to risk it all to gain it all.

He said, softly, "Sorry, Jimmy." He still didn't cry. I would have cried. But then, women have more chemicals in their tear ducts. It makes us tear up easier than men. Honest.

Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

If what I felt had been an actual wound, I'd have been bleeding to death.

love can die from being withheld, like a flower that is so beautiful you hide it away from the sun trying to make it last longer; but every flower needs sun, and being in love requires risking yourself.

Because he'd scared me, I was mad at him. Illogical, but it was better to be mad than scared.

If this is not love, ma petite , then I know nothing of it. If this is not love, then no one since time began has ever loved. You ask yourself What is love? Am I in love? when what you should be asking, is What is not love? ma petite . What is it that this man does for you that is not done out of love?

I stared at Jean-Claude still cuddled on the corner of the bed. He looked adorable, and if I'd had a gun, I'd have shot him on the spot.

There was a look on his face that was hard to describe. The devil must look like that after you've signed on the dotted line and given away your soul.

I love you, Jean-Claude; I wouldn't know what to do without you in my life, my bed, my heart.' 'Very poetic for you, ma petite.' 'I've

Love is not a one-size-fits-all emotion; there are as many different kinds of love as there are people.

Hot rage runs through you, and is close kin to hot passion, but cold rage, that is close kin to hate.

Rage had been almost my only emotion once, and it was still comforting in that dysfunctional way in which people will prefer something unpleasant, but familiar, to something pleasant, but unfamiliar.

I love you," I said, and this time I meant it. I could see the smile that went with the tone of his voice as he said, "I know, and I love you more." I smiled. "I love you most." Nathaniel's voice came on the phone as if Micah were holding it out to him: "I love you mostest.

Ma petite.' That was all, just my nickname, but it seemed to hold years of I love yous. The

Benissimo. Il tuo peccato è la lussuria, Anita, cioè lo stesso del tuo master e di tutti i suoi vampiri.» Scossi la testa, sentendo un sorriso sgradevole incurvarmi le labbra. Lo stesso sorriso che lascia freddi i miei occhi e di solito significa che sono davvero incazzata. «No, non è questo il mio peccato. Non è quello più vicino e più caro al mio cuore.» «E qual è allora il tuo peccato?» «L'ira, Malcom. L'ira.»

He kept my hand in his and touched my face with his fingertips, ever so lightly. He studied my face as if he would memorize it. The tears slowed, and I looked up into that most beautiful of faces. "Anita Blake, will you do me the honor"—he dropped to one knee in the shower—"the honor and wonder of marrying me?" I started to cry again, damn it! I nodded and finally found my voice. "Yes, yes, I will.

If I hadn't already said yes, and loved him to pieces, I'd have told him not only no, but hell no.

I needed him to touch me, and let me know that he was still my Darkness, still my Doyle. He whispered into my hair, "Merry, Merry, Merry." I clung to him, wordless, and wept.

I feel that anything I say, or do, in this moment, will upset you." It was the most diplomatic way I'd ever been told that I was a pain in the ass. I fought the urge to scream at him.

There are pains too deep for words, but there's touch to say what words can't. 'Can

He smiled back, but more like it was reflex. It never reached his eyes. They stayed cold and empty as a winter sky. Once the other marshals joined us he'd make his eyes sparkle, or fill with some emotion; he didn't bother when it was just us. We knew each other too well; there was no need to hide.