Quotes About Emotion

respond to that except by admitting it? 'Yes. My eyes are always stinging from the smoke of it.

I like to think or say, some madness there.

In the end, I always act from the heart, even if I also value reason and tradition. I wish I could explain why, but I don't know.

The heart does not go backward. Only the mind.

Grief is the proof of our love, a demonstration of how deeply we have allowed another to touch us.

A woman of intense feeling, head thrown back, hair wild, lips open upon a cry of unbelievable pleasure. The enchanted. A warrior both disciplined and passionate, his whole being focused in the moment. The enchanter. Now he is bending down to her, drinking her cries .....

Then he asked angrily, "Instead of teasing me, why the hell didn't you tell me you had a famous, jealous maniac for a lover? I wouldn't have touched you!" Cat's eyes widened. Surprised laughter tugged at her lips as she turned to Travis. "Are you a famous, jealous maniac, Travis, er, lover ?

I never thought of it like that. I always thought of you as a part of me, like my own eyes or my own hands. You don't go around thinking 'I love my eyes, I love my hands', do you? But think what it would be like to live without your eyes or your hands. To be mad, or to be blind. I can't talk about it. It's how I feel.

I've never thought of you like that,' said Christopher. 'How could I? If you were any other woman, I could tell you I loved you, easily enough, but not you-- because you've always seemed to me like a part of myself, and it would be like saying I loved my own eyes or my own mind. But have you ever thought of what it would be to have to live without your mind or your eyes, Kate? To be mad? Or blind?

This is the happiest story in the world with the saddest ending.

She was a clock, I could tell by the ticking in her wrist. (I'd secretly slipped my thumb down, to feel her pulse as we danced. It was perfectly steady and wreaking havoc with mine.) I could keep time by you, I thought.

Movie kisses looked like they'd hurt. She couldn't get enough of them. They made her feel alive - not in any expansive way, but assessed, her pulse taken, a rubber mallet to the knee that made her kick.

Art is despair with dignity.

Art is despait with dignity.

Please don't let this be a dream. I don't want to wake up, if it is.

I have. You. For Life. Bonded. Not Bonded. Fuck the details. I just want to be with you, Clare.

I said, I love you, you arrogant arse." She smiled. "I always have. You're my mate, Owen Breese MacLaren. The distance won't change that. It never has.

At the beginning of our relationship, my heart pounded so loudly whenever I stood near him. He had an effect on me that no aspiring vicar should have on a young woman.

She had never been so affected by the idea of intimacy, but there was something about his eyes; something warm, and gentle even though she felt transparent every time he turned his attention on her; like he could see her, really see her. The idea of being so exposed to someone…it took her breath away.

It has nothing to do with you—" "It has everything to do with me that you want to get yourself fucking killed." He snarled, the words tight and full of iron. "Losing you is not an option.

I should have wanted you. I wanted so much to want you.

Well, shit." I forced a laugh. "I guess I do know what love is, after all." It was Clare. Always Clare.

you're my first born child, and the person who first showed me the miracle of this love a mother has for her child.

and even if he knew the answer, he would keep on doing this. because, the thing was, he loved her. he couldn't walk away if he wanted to.