Quotes About Emotion

Arson is almost as good as Prozac.

Lee's face was a Spock-on-the-bridge-of-the-Enterprise blank.

FEAR THICKENS TIME, TURNS IT slow and viscous. One second of deeply felt terror lasts longer than ten regular seconds.

I told you had to be some kind of karmic opposite to the words I love you.

She didn't like to feel things so intensely. It reminded her of being crazy.

The idea that her death should precede his was worse than intolerable, it was obscene.

FEAR THICKENS TIME, TURNS IT slow and viscous.

He knew, too, from things Vic had not told him, that she missed him and loved him with an intensity perhaps matched only by what she felt for her son.

The past is always close, so close you can sing along with it, anytime you like.

An old flame," Harper said.

that if you were a woman and you had a child, you lost everything, you would be held hostage by love: a terrorist who would only be satisfied when you surrendered your entire future.

Quando cantamos juntos, cantamos por todos aqueles que nos amaram, mas que não estão aqui hoje. Cantamos à memória de cada minuto que tivemos na sua companhia.

He glanced over at the woman who had never been his wife but who had, incredibly, given him a child and made his life mean something. The idea that he had ever held her hand, or tasted her mouth, or made love to her, even now seemed as unlikely as being bitten by a radioactive spider.

Ten pojeb chce, ?eby ka?dy dzie? by? Bo?ym Narodzeniem, ale ja mu, kurwa, urz?dz? Dzie? Niepodleg?o?ci.

If you hated someone, she was at least worthy of your passion.

Habia creído que el amor tenia algo que ver con la felicidad, pero resulto que no estaban en absoluto relacionados. El amor tenia mas de necesidad, lo mismo que comer, que respirar.

Normalmente é por isso que as pessoas matam. Não é por ódio. É por amor.

To weep was a kind of luxury; the dead felt no loss, wept for no one and nothing.

The enthusiasm, the swell of sweet courage he heard in her voice, filled him with Seattle-grunge levels of despair.

Horror was rooted in sympathy, after all, in understanding what it would be like to suffer the worst.

That's what poetic speech is for--for the things that are true but don't make sense.

She had felt good for a few moments, racing across the face of the hill on her old bike, but the happy feeling had burned itself out and left behind a thin, cold rage. She was no longer entirely sure who she was angry with though. Her anger didn't have a fixed point. It was a soft whir of emotion to match the soft whir of the spokes.

The truth is always more scary than kissing someone for the first time.

Don't you dare write any romantic songs about springtime Aubrey. It would kill me, and dying once is bad enough.