Quotes About Feeling

A human foetus, with no more human feeling than an amoeba, enjoys a reverence and legal protection far in excess of those granted to an adult chimpanzee. Yet the chimp feels and thinks and — according to recent experimental evidence — may even be capable of learning a form of human language.

Later, crying became simply affirmation of feeling, and feeling the only compass in life. Feeling became fashionable and emotion became a theatre in which people were players who no longer knew who they were off the stage.

Philopon helps me through this fever, Nakamura said, feeling

and every word sounded both a defence against what he truly felt and a betrayal of all that he was.

Dorrigo felt a warm

And since that is not how it has been for a long time, you want, this time, to make it last, this glistening one moment, this cool air, this new living, so that you can preserve a feeling of it, inasmuch as when it comes again it may just be too late. You may just be too old. And in truth, of course, this may be the last time that you will ever feel this way again.

Any rainy summer morning, of course, has the seeds of gloomy alienation sown in. But a rainy summer morning far from home - when your personal clouds don't move but hang - can easily produce the feeling of the world as seen from the grave. This I know.

See it? Oh, I have no interest in seeing it. Seeing it might get in the way of my opinion.

Basically, I have one feeling... the desire to get out of here. And any other feelings I have come from trying to analyze, you know, why I want to go away... See, I always feel uncomfortable and I just want to... walk out of the room. It's not going to any other place or any other sensation, or anything like that, it's just to get out of 'here'.

Too much virtuality will do that to you sometimes. There's this vague feeling of abrasion in the head when you disconnect, a disquieting sense that reality isn't quite sharp enough anymore, a waxing and waning fuzziness that might be what the edge of madness feels like. The

There is just this dream, this feeling, this urge, this desire. There is seldom any real proof, but the dream lives on.

Ira felt as if he'd contracted an all-over emotional itch, as if he'd put on a sweater made of spiritually abrasive wool- but to take it off would leave him dreadfully cold.

Remorse, etymologically, is the action of biting again: that's what the feeling does to you. Imagine the strength of the bite when I reread my words. They seemed like some ancient curse I had forgotten even uttering.

When I felt myself escaping from the earth," he commented, "my reaction was not pleasure but happiness." It was "a moral feeling," he added. "I could hear myself living, so to speak.

It seemed that Soviet power had finally decided to love him; and he had never felt a clammier embrace.

I've come to realize that home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

Only two things kept her from loathing him. The expression on his face when he'd said, France. And the expression on his face when he'd said, home.

Hugh sought the right words. It's just that... He pushed his hair back. And then he sighed. I feel that if one is properly living life...an excess of rumination and metaphor can put you at a remove from all that's beautiful about it. If one takes advantage of all the senses - breathing, feeling, seeing... touching...tasting... he tried not to look at Lillias ...then merely being alive is poetry.

I feel that if one is properly living life . . . an excess of rumination and metaphor can put you at a remove from all that's beautiful about it. If one takes advantage of all the senses—breathing, feeling, seeing . . . touching . . . tasting . . ." he tried not to look at Lillias ". . . then merely being alive is poetry.

What we call beauty is perhaps the strength of our feeling of resistance to destructibility. Difficulty of reproduction is the yardstick of the degree of beauty.

I had the feeling of being in a construction elevator suspended in the skeleton of an unfinished building and between two concrete walls that were shedding tears like bird droppings.

ConversaÅ£ia femeii era limitat?, dar o dat? ce intra în sfera vieÅ£ii ei, se însufleÅ£ea brusc. Poate c? tot asta era ÅŸi calea spre inima ei.

Ceea ce simÅ£ea pentru ea era una, iar ceea ce îi f?cuse ea era altceva.