Quotes About Feeling

I mean, it's all a matter of your heart . . . NÂZIM HIKMET

Though the rain washed Mammachi's spit off his face, it didn't stop the feeling that someone had lifted off his head and vomited into his body. Lumpy vomit dribbling down his insides. Over his heart. His lungs. The slow thick drip into the pit of his stomach. All his organs awash in vomit. There was nothing the rain could do about that.

The patient gave me a look.

We recognize that all knowledge is mediated through the body and that feeling is a profound source of information about our lives

Rationality is not unnecessary. It serves the chaos of knowledge. It serves feeling. It serves to get from this place to that place. But if you don't honor those places, then the road is meaningless. Too often, that's what happens with the worship of rationality and that circular, academic, analytic thinking. But ultimately, I don't see feel/think as a dichotomy. I see them as a choice of ways and combinations.

Men who are afraid to feel must keep women around to do their feeling for them while dismissing us for the same supposedly "inferior" capacity to feel deeply. But in this way also, men deny themselves their own essential humanity, trapped in dependency and fear.

If I ever really sounded I would rupture your eardrums or your heart.

But giving in to the fear of feeling and working to capacity is a luxury only the unintentional can afford, and the unintentional are those who do not wish to guide their own destinies.

Men who are afraid to feel must keep women around to do their feeling for them while dismissing us for the same supposedly inferior capacity to feel deeply. But in this way also, men deny themselves their own essential humanity, becoming trapped in dependency and fear.

For having experienced the fullness of this depth of feeling and recognizing its power, in honor and self-respect we can no require no less ourselves

When someone said to me, 'How do you feel?' or 'What do you think?' or asked another direct question, I would recite a poem, and somewhere in that poem would be the feeling, the vital piece of information. It might be a line. It might be an image. The poem was my response.

You have an incredible body. He reaches out to touch my stomach. I feel no pleasure in his compliment or his touch, only impatience. This is the only feeling. I feel like the paper on which my mood chart is printed.

Awe, I discovered, was my favorite feeling. It was a rare experience, but when it happened, it was like an orgasm for the mind.

Self-pity isn't the most accurate description for this feeling because it describes only half of it: sad for me, I'm hurt. What's missing is the other half: and you need to do something about it.

For the first time since her return, she felt pain, a violent pain, but it made her feel alive, because it was worth feeling.

Through the dry phases of calculations in her mind, she noticed that she did have time to feel something: it was the hard, exhilarating pleasure of action.

Whenever anyone accuses some person of being 'unfeeling,' he means that that person is just. He means that that person has no causeless emotions and will not grant him a feeling which he does not deserve. He means that .'to feel' is to go against reason, against moral values, against reality.

One of the disadvantages of almost universal education was the fact that all kinds of persons acquired a familiarity with one's favorite writers. It gave one a curious feeling; it was like seeing a drunken stranger wrapped in one's dressing gown.

No recuerdo a dónde íbamos o de dónde veníamos, incluso no recuerdo la temporada, sólo recuerdo caminar en medio de los dos y sentir por primera vez que pertenecía a algún lugar.

Ma, soprattutto, piangevo perchè, all'improvviso, mi ero reso conto che ero proprio io quello in piedi, nel tunnel, con il vento che gli sferzava il viso. Non m'interessava vedere il centro della città. Non ci pensavo nemmeno. Perché ero in piedi, nel tunnel. Ed ero presente, davvero. E questo è bastato a farmi provare quella sensazione di infinito.

This was a different kind of crying

Pero sobre todo, lloraba porque de repente fui consciente del hecho de que era yo el que estaba de pie en ese túnel con el viento corriendo por mi cara. Sin preocuparme de ver el centro de la ciudad. Sin ni siquiera pensar en ello. Porque estaba de pie en el túnel. Y estaba realmente allí. Y aquello era suficiente para hacerme sentir infinito.

Y estaba realmente allí. Y eso fue suficiente para hacerme sentir infinito.

But mostly, I was crying because I was suddenly very aware of the fact that it was me standing up in that tunnel with the wind over my face. Not caring if I saw downtown. Not even thinking about it. Because I was standing in the tunnel. And I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite.