Quotes About Emotion

I have no longer the strength to act what I do not feel.

You blush before your tenderness.

The enemy of a love is never outside, it's not a man or woman, it's what we lack in ourselves.

I like the hungry wat she looks at me

I like the hungry way she looks at me

I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt

Poetry is the description of an intangible state.

I cannot live without love. Love is at the root of my being.

I fell in love with your portrait, Jeanne, because it will never change. I have such a fear of seeing you grow old, Jeanne; I fell in love with an unchanging you that will never be taken away from me.

My desire wandered—I became all desire and warmth.

It was unreal because I live only in the depths. When I come to the surface for pleasure, I don't live. I live only in passion, pain, depths, darkness. But I try to breathe above of the deep ocean of sensation.

The Lawrence book excited me too.

I thought how much this meant to me, and that it was what I really felt about D. H. Lawrence, and that it was the darkness which attracted me . . . don't you think it ‹ so about Lawrence?

P.S. The excerpts will follow in the next mail. Just read Unamuno! My Unamuno! Where is that tragic sense of life? I want it. I may write on Gide's Dostoevsky tomorrow. Everything is stirring in me—Fraenkel, Proust, Unamuno, Osborn, Lawrence

a beautiful voice that haunted people

Pouvoir, au milieu de la folie, redevenir humaine et pitoyable.

A ansiedade penetrara em seu corpo e se recusava a se espalhar por ele. Os buracos prateados de sua peneira contra a mágoa, que lhes haviam sido outorgados ao nascer, obstruíram-se. Agora a dor se alojara dentro dela, inescapável.

Anaïs, it makes me weep, your Journal. It makes me love you beyond words.

Al final de la velada, yo era como un hombre, estaba profundamente enamorada de su rostro y de su cuerpo, que prometía tanto, y odiaba el ser que los demás habían creado en ella. Los demás sienten gracias a ella; y gracias a ella, componen poemas; gracias a ella, odian; y otros, como Henry, la aman aunque les pese.

Anaïs, I can't say much now—I am in a fever.

Henry:] Je pense à toi tous le temps.

I am a child compared to you, because when the womb in you speaks it enfolds everything—it is the darkness I adore.

I saw a mouth that was at once intelligent, animal, and soft . . . strange mixture—a human man, sensitively aware of everything—I love awareness—a man, I told you, whom life made drunk.

Hay dos modos de llegar a mí, mediante los besos o la imaginación. Pero existe una jerarquía; los besos por sí solos no bastan.