Quotes About Emotion

You don't know love when you see it. You've tricked something out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing to look like that. There, that's the first sensible thing I've ever said in my life. I wonder how I managed it?

I've read somewhere that 'our dead are never dead until we have forgotten them.' Matthew will never be dead to me, for I can never forget him.

Don't let a three-o'clock-at-night feeling fog your soul.

And she knew, just as simply and just as surely that she loved him— had always loved him, with a love that lay at the very foundation of he being.

I never knew how much I really liked her until I saw her familiar face among all those strangers.

Hate is only love that missed its way.

The purpose of art is to console and amuse—myself, and, I hope, others.

The human body is the best picture of the human soul.

Music conveys to us itself!

Man kann vernünftigerweise nicht einmal auf Hitler eine Wut haben, wieviel weniger auf Gott.

Un'ora breve di dolore c'impressiona lungamente; un giorno passa e non lascia traccia.

L'amore che è la cosa piú viva e piú santa che ci sia dato provare sulla terra?

There was nothing one could do when love came. It was fast, and it was strong, and if it were not good, then surely God would not have allowed it such power.

Roses denote grace.

I would feel deeply the elegant satisfaction of being caressed by that gawky boy, and I would take his face in both my hands and kiss him hard, as if I could draw from those lips the very strength and sweetness he did not know he had.

She wanted a reaction. As usual, I felt nothing but the desire not to have a confrontation.

Can I make myself any clearer? I can't live without you. I don't know what to call it, but if it isn't love, I don't know what is. So stop looking down your prim little nose at me and say you'll marry me so I don't have to kill myself

I have always wished the present to resemble memory: because the present can be flat at times, and bald as a road. But memory is never like that. It makes hills of feeling in collapsed hours, a scene of enclosure made all precious by its frame.

Always I thougt that I would know brother, regardles the years that past, but like the ocean he would not know me

People must flatter their own eyes with their pathetic lives. The things I was saying followed logically the things that I had said before, yet bore no relation to what I was thinking and feeling.

And I could tell she loved him. And although she was an evil fungus growing on 200 pounds of irritated lard, her feelings were real.

She called it a 'still—Volcano—Life', and that volcano heaves, close to the surface, throughout her poetry and a thousand letters. Stillness, for her, was not a retreat from life but a form of control.

People want to be titillated or frightened. They don't want to think.

I find that the thoughts spoken between the lines are the most important parts of a poem or story.