Quotes About Feeling

The cold water embraced hime like no woman ever could

When you live in New York, you often have the feeling that New York's not the world. I mean this: every time I come home, I feel like I'm coming back to the world, and when I leave Maycomb it's like leaving the world.

When you live in New York you often have the feeling that New York's not the world. I mean this. Every time I come home I feel like I'm coming back to the world. And when I leave Macomb it's like leaving the world. It's silly.

Every nerve in her body shrieked, then died. She was numb.

These are tears and I am crying. It is not a painful sensation, as I always thought it must be. It feels like the purest expression of feeling that it is possible to have. And the feeling mixes everything up together. Happiness. Sadness. Relief. Sorrow. Love. A mixture if things no psychiatrist ever felt. It is the most wonderful mixture in the world.

so great was his feeling of rightness that he could ignore the dark shadow of the future.

I was feeling lonely without her, but the fact that I could feel lonely at all was consolation. Loneliness wasn't such a bad feeling. It was like the stillness of the pin oak after the little birds had flown off.

you mean machines are like humans? I shook my head. No, not like humans. With machines the feeling is, well, more finite. It doesn't go any further. With humans it's different. The feeling is always changing. Like if you love somebody, the love is always shifting or wavering. It's always questioning or inflating or disappearing or denying or hurting. And the thing is, you can't do anything about it, you can't control it. With my Subaru, it's not so complicated.

I was enveloped in numbness, and absence of feeling so deep the bottom was lost from view.

It's precisely because of the pain, the we can get the feeling, through this process, of really being alive—or at least a partial sense of it.

It was a strange feeling, like touching a void.

But this thing, whatever it was, this mistlike something, hung there inside my body like a certain kind of potential. I wanted to give it a name, but the word refused to come to mind. I'm terrible at finding the right words for things. I'm sure Tolstoy would have been able to come up with exactly the right word

It was a different sense of isolation from what he normally felt in Japan. And not such a bad feeling, he decided. Being alone in two senses of the word was maybe like a double negation of isolation. In other words, it made perfect sense for him, a foreigner, to feel isolated here. The thought calmed him. He was in exactly the right place.

I don't like ringing the bell at the door. Its' tingaling just sounds beautiful. It makes one equal innocent sound, and it doesn't matter who is ringing. But knocking is distinctive. Human beats something physically - you can hear the reflected feeling. Of course, the hand always gets slightly painful.

The purity of her beauty gives me a feeling close to sadness—a very natural feeling, though one that only something extraordinary could produce.

It was the first time Junko felt a certain something as she watched the flames of a bonfire: something deep down, a wad of feeling, she might have called it, because it was too raw, too heavy, to real to be called an idea. It coursed through her body and vanished, leaving behind a sweet-sad, chest-gripping, strange sort of feeling.

What he really wanted to say was: have you felt this? this phantom life streaking like a phosphorescent hound at the edges of your ruin?

I can feel it everyday, the limit of my ability.

Sie war liebenswürdig und er liebte sie. / Er aber war nicht liebenswürdig / und sie liebte ihn nicht. (Altes Stück)

I am a writer. The proof of how I am feeling is always in my pen.

our enjoyment of the great works of literature depends more upon the depth of our sympathy than upon our understanding.

Great poetry needs no interpreter other than a responsive heart.

The infinite wonders of the universe are revealed to us in exact measure as we are capable of receiving them. The keenness of our vision depends not on how much we can see, but on how much we feel.

I've always liked this idea that writing should comfort the afflicted, and afflict the comfortable to create trouble. The value of a work of art can be measured by the harm spoken of it. If you're not feeling that, then absolutely, why bother?