Quotes About Emotion

That was the test of love, he thought dreamily, when you can't bear to be this happy without the other person with you.

Was this what he believed, what he had always believed when I talked on and on about goodness? Was he making the violin say it? Was he deliberately creating those long, pure liquid notes to say that beauty meant nothing because it came from the dispair inside him, and it had nothing to do with the desair finally, because the despair wasn't beautiful, and a beauty then was a horrid irony?

I didn't tell her what it had been like, those few days. But I think she knew. Something magical had been lost utterly.

Dig deep, deep, my soul, to find the heart--the blood, the heat, the shrine and resting place. Dig deep, deep into the moist soil all the way to where they lie, those I love--she, Mother, with her dark hair loose and gone, her bones long since tumbled in the back of the vault, as other coffins came to rest in her spot, but in this dream I range them round me to hold as if she were there...

He bent close to me, and suddenly kissed me, in a manner that seemed entirely childlike and also a bit European.

Only love could create such conflict, such longing, such fear.

I was feeling fear. Not a wild, mortal fear, but something cold like a hook in my side.

When it's happening it is too beautiful, too overwhelming, and you can feel it's being lost with every breath you take.

His eyes closed for a split second and he sank against Armand's shoulder, feeling Armand's hand on his back. Far away he heard Armand's voice: "What do I do with you, my beloved? Especially now, when I myself am so afraid.

I wouldn't write a book to tell you that a vampire was happy.

he didn't know where I lived, because I think he feared, in his heart of hearts, that I didn't trust him, that my work had slowly eroded the love for him which I felt. But I did trust him...I did love him. I didn't love anyone in the world but him. I just didn't want anyone to know where I lived.

and what struck my heart almost as much as the song itself was the way that he seemed with his whole body to lean into the music, to press his soul like an ear to the instrument.

Don't go, he said, and his voice was so soft and imploring that it took my breath away. But I was already going. I barely heard him call out to me: I need you. You're the only friend I have. How tragic those words! I wanted to say I was sorry, sorry for all of it. But it was too late now for that. And besides, I think he knew. All life seemed utterly unbearable to me now.

Here's my love, not in little droplets, but from the very river of my being. It reaches all the way down to the roots of my being, tangling my heart in its burning mesh. For you. Drink deep.

I love you,' Marius whispered suddenly, passionately as a mortal man might. 'I have always loved you. I wish that I could believe in anything other than love at this moment; but I can't.

The awareness of happiness comes after, in memory, with the belated appreciation of the moment.

Don't ever think that two is enough," Benedict said. "Don't ever imagine it. And don't ever be crippled by believing that you cannot live without one other being, and only that being. You must have more than that to love, because loving, loving keeps us alive, loving is our best defense against time, and time is merciless. Time is a monster. Time devours everything.

How could I not love it, the mere idea of it? How could it not be worth the greatest danger, the greatest and most ghastly defeat? Even at the moment of destruction, I would be alive as I have never been.

Why do we weep when we see something beautiful? Why are we weakened by beauty? Why does it break our hearts?

I mean it's a concept born out of moral idiocy, this idea of love!

There was never a mention, never a declaration or a decision. But the long hours of talking stopped. No more reading aloud, or music, or films. And after that there was simple physical affection, the two walking arm in arm, or Maharet at her reading with Mekare sitting motionless on a bench nearby.

Divesting oneself so totally of the customary feelings of alienation and distrust that the subsequent acceptance was intellectually orgasmic.

I think to be this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

I closed my eyes and heard the wind and the sound of water flowing softly, swiftly in the river. It was enough, for one moment. And I knew that it would not endure, that it would fly away from me like something torn out of my arms, and I would fly after it, more desperately lonely than any creature under God, to get it back.