Quotes About Emotion

I feel good because the world is right." Wrong! The world is right because I feel good.

When you go out to the world because of the love that someone else has for you, you are all aglow not with your perception of reality but with the love that you have received from someone else; someone else controls the switch and when it is switched off the glow fades away.

How can you love someone whom you do not even see?

It is from the oppression of your programming that you need to be liberated. Only then will you experience that inner freedom from which alone all social revolution must arise for the powerful emotion, the passion that arises in your heart at the sight of social evils and impels you to action, will have its origin in reality, not in your programming or your ego.

Terrific or terrifying, depending on your point of view.

Lou Reed: I am so susceptible to beauty.

The way her fingers flutter through the space around her. Each a thing he hopes never to forget.

Seventy-six years old," she whispers, "and I can still feel like this? Like a little girl with stars in my eyes?

Who knew love could kill you?

That's how he feels right now, he thinks, kneeling beside her, rinsing her hair: as though his love for his daughter will outstrip the limits of his body. The walls could fall away, even the whole city, and the brightness of that feeling would not wane.

You bury your childhood here and there. It waits for you, all your life, to come back and dig it up.

Nothing that could fit on this page, or a hundred of these pages, would possibly accommodate all the things I should say to you, all the things you deserve to hear.

She was crying now, quietly, inhaling so vehemently it was as if she were trying to suck the tears back into her eyes.

She has no memories of her mother but imagines her as white, a soundless brilliance. Her father radiates a thousand colors, opal, strawberry red, deep russet, wild green; a smell like oil and metal, the feel of a lock tumbler sliding home, the sound of his key rings chiming as he walks.

he laughs a pure, contagious laugh, one she will try to remember all her life

His heart was a catapult in his chest.

there comes a point where the pressure of relentless fear perforates rationality and the body moves independently of the mind.

If only she had brought her novel down with her.

It was wrong and impossible and illicit and yet each minute with the boy was a gift, a scene from a story he could not leave.

He feels only the raw, impassive surge of the moonlight as it strikes the tent above him and scatters.

The eggs taste like clouds. Like spun gold. […] Marie-Laure can hear a can opening, juice slopping into a bowl. Seconds later, she's eating wedges of wet sunlight.

inside her chest pulses something huge, something full of longing, something unafraid.

For portions of every day, she is happy.

The air between them seemed to accumulate energy.