Quotes About Emotion

If I am ever to find these trees meaningful I must have you by the hand. As it is, they stretch dusty fingers into an obscure sky, and the snow looks up like a face dirtied with tears. Should I cry out and see what happens? There could only be a stranger wandering in this landscape, cold, unfortunate, himself frozen fast in wintry eyes.

I'm becoming the street. Who are you in love with? me? Straight against the light I cross.

I saw the black seam of your stocking Running down the side of the mountain like a creek I put the whiskey down and listened from "Blue Yodel of the Desperado

Love is a kind of symptom that arises through the repression of libido.

Love you. A stranger accidentally text messaged me the other day. I didn't delete it. I look at it before I go to bed at night and sometimes during the day. I know it wasn't meant for me... but it's nice to pretend it was.

Music is the best.

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart.

We are as forlorn as children lost in the wood. When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours? And if I were to cast myself down before you and tell you, what more would you know about me that you know about Hell when someone tells you it is hot and dreadful?

You are at once both the quiet and the confusion of my heart; imagine my heartbeat when you are in this state.

Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.

I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.

The person I am in the company of my sisters has been entirely different from the person I am in the company of other people. Fearless, powerful, surprising, moved as I otherwise am only when I write.

Nor is it perhaps really love when I say that for me you are the most beloved; In this love you are like a knife, with which I explore myself.

I'm doing badly, I'm doing well; whichever you prefer.

I feel an unhappiness which almost dismembers me, and at the same time am convinced of its necessity

It occurs to me that I really can't remember your face in any precise detail. Only the way you walked away through the tables in the café, your figure, your dress, that I still see.

By your side I'm most quiet and most unquiet, most inhibited and most free.

you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love, that, my dear, is love

There are times when my longing for you overwhelms me […] so often I can think of you only with teeth clenched.

In argument similes are like songs in love; they describe much, but prove nothing.

And actually it is not you at all I love, but rather the existence you have bestowed on me

But what shall I do when instead of a heart this fear is beating in my body?

In this love you are like a knife with which I explore myself.

I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can't find the right words. All I can say is: Stay with me, don't leave me.