Quotes About Emotion

You just threatened them with a gun. I think I just threatened them with a gun. We got the money back. They actually returned it.' She took another shaky step. 'I feel so...vibrant.' His eyes were cynical. 'Delayed emotion. Don't do anything stupid because of it.

You always make me feel strange." His gaze sharpened, and she plowed ahead. "I don't mean that in the negative. But you do, and have, ever since that night I met you. I can't say I rightly felt that way before that night, though there was something about you across the theater that made me want to get you to smile at me in return. Still, it was that night we met. I had never felt such a reaction to a man before. Something tight and uncertain and exciting. Wild.

She smiled at him. Why was she always smiling at him? It made him tense.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm sick of this poem, you probably are too.

There's a moment when love makes you believe in death for the first time. You recognize the one whose loss, even contemplated, you'll carry forever, like a sleeping child. All grief, anyone's grief...is the weight of a sleeping child.

Long after you've forgotten someone's voice, you can still remember the sound of their happiness or their sadness. You can feel it in your body.

Love makes you see a place differently, just as you hold differently an object that belongs to someone you love.

Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way.

Names are like codes, yes? Like magic codes. They have everything that ever happened to you squeezed tightly inside them.

It was not something you could call friendship; it was at once less and more. The sharing of such experiences created a bond and set them apart from all others. It was not something that could be told to another person. There were no words with a meaning both could understand which would impart the physical horror or the heights and depths of emotion.

I wish you'd fall in love with me," she said. "Why?" "Because you're really someone worth falling in love with. And if we were in love, I wouldn't be drifting. I wouldn't be nobody. At least not while I was with you.

She was standing there all right. And I was in love with her. So much for the first glimpse.

Words? I tell you not to write me letters; I command you. Is it not enough to want you so in vain, but you send me what evokes you here before me -- this paper, all along whose lines your hand has lain?

Laughter nibbled at my lips like tiny fish in warm water.

I felt tears sting into my eyes, and took a deep swallow of the first champagne I had ever tasted, remembering that I had read somewhere that the monk who invented it said, on first tasting it, 'It is like drinking stars'.

Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.

Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

I'm in pain because the day is ending and somehow I am never healing.

No. Not really red, but the color of a rose when it bleeds.

And there you are. And I liked you a lot today. A lot. And I want to talk to you. Selfishly.

Pain engraves a deeper memory.

I am unbalanced — but I am not mad with snow. I am mad the way young girls are mad, with an offering, an offering… I burn the way money burns.