Quotes About Emotion

Death devours all lovely things;Lesbia with her sparrowShares the darkness—presentlyEvery bed is narrow.

I only know that summer sang in meA little while, that in me sings no more.

They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now

Music, my rampart and my only one.

You are loved. If so, what else matters?

I shall think of you Whenever I am most happy, whenever I am Most sad, whenever I see a beautiful thing. You are a burning lamp to me, a flame The wind cannot blow out, and I shall hold you High in my hand against whatever darkness.

I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.

How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line....

I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own.

Into each dance must be packed the panic and ecstasy of her last moment of life, for underneath was death.

The room is full of you! — As I came in And closed the door behind me, all at once A something in the air, intangible, yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!—

I bleed, but know not wherefore, know not where.

Am I kin to Sorrow, That so oft Falls the knocker of my door— Neither loud nor soft, But as long accustomed— Under Sorrow's hand?

If I had loved you less or played you slyly I might have held you for a summer more

I shall forget before the flickers mate Your look that is today my east and west.

They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

Pity me that the heart is slow to learn What the swift mind beholds at every turn.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

And what are you that, missing you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall? I know a man that's a braver man And twenty men as kind, And what are you, that you should be The one man in my mind? Yet women's ways are witless ways, As any sage will tell,— And what am I, that I should love So wisely and so well?

The longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity.

I would kiss you, had I the courage.