Quotes About Emotion

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love

Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For, he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

Stay, O sweet, and do not rise; The light that shines comes from thine eyes; The day breaks not, it is my heart, Because that you and I must part.

I wonder, by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd.

Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee, Before I knew thy face or name

Send me nor this, nor that, to increase my store, But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind, But sigh'st my soul away; When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, My life's blood doth decay. It cannot be That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st, If in thine my life thou waste

Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.

For while the subjects of poetry are few and recurrent, the moods of man are infinitely various and unstable. It is the same in all arts.

But in the finished art of the song the use of words has no connection with the use of words in poetry.

A lyric, it is true, is the expression of personal emotion, but then so is all poetry, and to suppose that there are several kinds of poetry, differing from each other in essence, is to be deceived by wholly artificial divisions which have no real being.

When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.

Jealousy is the jaundice of the soul.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again.

Love is love's reward.

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.

Love is love's reward.

Love is always a surprise and you never get it right.

It wasn't that I wanted to know her now. I wanted to have already known her. I wanted her fears and her desires to have shaped my life. I know this is not love, of course. What it is is a queer feeling of nostalgia for an impossible future, for what can never be. That's fantasy. Love is different.

Every act of loving affirms the goodness of the lover just because he is capable of loving and being loved.