Quotes About Emotion

He introduced himself and I fell in love with him there and then. It took two minutes, at the most. It was like getting an anaesthetic. You start counting backwards from ten and you're out by the time you get to eight. Bang. Love.

Love had transformed the world for me. Transformed it.

Love and loss—two things that went together, it seemed, with a poignant inevitability; we loved, knowing that we would lose, but loved nonetheless because...She stopped. Yes, because we did not choose to love; we loved because we had to. Love was something that happened to us; it was never planned, even if we knew that some day, at some moment, it might alight upon us and—we hoped—change everything.

She had always understood that love could have an intense physical effect; could fill a space somewhere in the chest, could turn knees weak, could raise the pulse; could intoxicate, just as could a strong martini or a glass of champagne. Could, she thought, and would…but only if you allowed it, only if you opened whatever portals of the heart needed to be opened. And some people, of course, found it difficult to do that.

often our tears have no particular justification; they are tears for something larger about the world than any private sorrow.

Mma Makutsi had overheard this remark and had been so cross that her glasses misted over; that was always a bad sign, Mma Ramotswe knew.

People who hated often had to work quite hard at keeping their hatred warm.

She would not allow herself to remember how Note had treated her, and many others too, she suspected. She had forgiven him, yes, but she still did not like to remember. And perhaps a deliberate act of forgetting went along with forgiveness. You forgave, and then you said to yourself: Now I shall forget. Because if you did not forget, then your forgiveness would be tested, perhaps many times and in ways that you could not resist, and you might go back to anger, and to hating.

We still, alas, cannot forestall it- This dreadful ailment's heavy toll; The spleen is what the English call it, We call it simply, Russian soul.

Whoever you be, O my reader- friend, foe- I wish with you to part at present as a pal. Farewell. Whatever you in my wake sought in these careless strophes- tumultuous recollections, relief from labors, live pictures or bons mots, or faults of grammar- God grant that you, in this book, for recreation, for the daydream, for the heart, for jousts in journals, may find at least a crumb. Upon which, let us part, farewell!

Eu te-am iubit ÅŸi poate c? iubirea În suflet înc? nu s-a stins de tot; Dar nici neliniÅŸte ÅŸi nici tristeÅ£e Ea nu îÅ£i va mai da, aÅŸa socot. F?r? cuvinte te-am iubit, f?r? n?dejde, De gelozie, de sfial? chinuit. Dea Domnul s? mai fii cîndva iubit? AÅŸa adînc, aÅŸa gingaÅŸ cum te-am iubit.

Always and everywhere one vision, One customary, single mission, One customary, single grief. Not cooling distance's relief...

How rapid was his look and bashful, Tender and bold, while off and on With an obedient tear it shone.

I loved you; even now I must confess, Some embers of my love their fire retain; But do not let it cause you more distress, I do not want to sadden you again. Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly With pangs the jealous and the timid know; So tenderly I love you, so sincerely, I pray God grant another love you so.

Que je voulais, dans quelle fièvre Toucher ses pieds, du bout des lèvres

Objet de poésies mutines, Vase d'amour bien émouvant Toi qui m'a enivré souvent

Oh! my little father, Petr' Andréjïtch

I longed for you so avidly.

I love their feet—although you'll find That all of Russia scarcely numbers Three pairs of shapely feet ... And yet, How long it took me to forget Two special feet. (18)

we are willing to lose ourselves in another as we exchange fates with one whom we love but on whom our heart is nevertheless impaled.

Man loves in order to live in another a life missing in himself, for perhaps love does love what it lacks: we want to be what we love, even if what we love wants us to be, when we love, what we are.

A gray cloud swung its belly over the brush at the summit and fat drops of rain burst on the windscreen and splattered into the car and dotted up and down my arms. I hung out of the car and let the rain fall on my face.

Strong people didn't like witnesses to their weak moments.

The friends we have lost do not repose under the ground...they are buried deep in our hearts. It has been thus ordained that they may always accompany us...