Quotes About Emotion

Kit caught Will's eye, and the smile he sent down might have melted Will like a candle end. Lovesick fool, Will thought, and looked down before someone could notice his silly grin and draw an entirely correct conclusion.

The quaver in his voice was less showmanship than he would have wanted it to be.

Perceval had never been kissed before. Oh, yes, she'd kissed Rien, but that was not such a kiss as this. This was soft and melting, Mallory's bony and elegant hand pressed to her cheek and a slick tongue lightly flicking her closed mouth. And Perceval had no idea how to react.

He wasn't sure if the salt and iron he tasted was blood and the bridle, or Mehiel's tears.

Muire closed her eyes and spoke around a heart's denial.

I couldn't have called after her. My throat was full of thorns and no words could have gotten past.

I'd believed. And now I couldn't believe anymore. And I missed that believing so much. This must be what losing your religion feels like.

I hadn't realized how much I'd been needing to meet someone I might be able to say everything to.

Even losing you (a joking voice, a gesture/ I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident/ the art of losing's not too hard to master/ though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Language is a mixture of statement and evocation.

He feels spikes everywhere and rushes to impale himself.

First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context. This isolation, young love and hero worship accomplish without remorse; they hardly know tenderness.

People in love, in whom every sense is open, cannot beat off the influence of a place.

You agonise me by being so agonised.

But I should never write what had happened down. One's nature is to forget, and one ought to go by that. Memory is quite unbearable enough, but even so it leaves out quite a lot.

Everything ungirt, artless, ardent, urgent about Louie was to the fore: all over herself she gave the impression of twisted stockings.

Where they were concerned, the ban, the check, the caution as to all spending and most of all the expenditure of feeling restricted them. Wariness had driven away poetry: from hesitating to feel came the moment you no longer could.

He left her and looked round for his glass again. Meanwhile, he said to himself in a quoting voice: "We are minor in everything but our passions." "Wherever did you read that?" "Nowhere: I woke up and heard myself saying it, one night." "How pompous you were in the night. I'm so glad I was asleep.

I am often upset when I meet a person again.

There was some nerve in his feeling he did not want touched: he protected it without knowing where it was.

Henrietta knew of the heart as an organ; she privately saw it covered in red plush and believed that it could not break, though it might tear.

In you there may persist some spark of what's everywhere else gone out: who knows why else I've loved you? Through love you've lit me – don't quarrel now with which way the fire blows.

he felt her knocking through him like another heart outside his own ribs.

To love makes one less clever.