Quotes About Feeling

Maybe good luck was like bad luck in that it took awhile for it to sink in. You don't feel anything at first. The feeling came later on.

Yet every time I remembered it I was suffused with a glow of warmth.

I felt my existence was tainted, in some subtle but essential way.

Now the truth is, I felt rather unaccountably towards the beautiful stranger. I did feel, as she said, "drawn towards her," but there was also something of repulsion. In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed. She interested and won me; she was so beautiful and so indescribably engaging.

I experienced a strange tumultuous excitement that was pleasurable, ever and anon, mingled with a vague sense of fear and disgust. I had no distinct thoughts about her while such scenes lasted, but I was conscious of a love growing into adoration, and also of abhorrence. This I know is paradox, but I can make no other attempt to explain the feeling.

She knew exactly how he was feeling, because experience had taught her that the kind of excitement she was feeling at that moment was never, ever one-sided. On the contrary, she knew that it was born of acute and mutual anticipation, and she knew, too, that it would not be denied.

So why was he feeling like this? Why was he feeling like some promise the universe made had been broken?

If the heart did not feel, then there was no hope for the rest. Feeling was necessary to passion and caring and belief.

Me he tomado también tu taza de café. Ya casi no tengo azúcar pero me acordé que a ti te gusta amargo. Sabe muy feo, cómo ésta soledad. Cómo éste estar deseándote a todas horas.

It felt oily in his mind and left an aftertaste in his soul.

La ciencia no me interesa. Me parece presuntuosa, analítica y superficial. Ignora el sueño, el azar, la risa, el sentimiento y la contradicción, cosas todas que me son preciosas.

Hay que haber comenzado a perder la memoria, aunque sea sólo a retazos, para darse cuenta de que esta memoria es lo que constituye toda nuestra vida. (...) Nuestra memoria es nuestra coherencia, nuestra razón, nuestra acción, nuestro sentimiento.

You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all, just as an intelligence without the possibility of expression is not really an intelligence. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it, we are nothing.

You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all... Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it we are nothing.

My blood burned withing me.

Me iba yo sintiendo como el barco: todo rodeado de color nostalgia. Un color nostalgia que incluso iba enrojeciendo de lo difícil que me parecía entenderlo todo.

Love isn't a feeling; it's an attitude, it's actions. Like buying him the prayer shawl. Whether you feel anything or not, just do the loving thing.

We depend upon cognitive assent and affective assurances to substantiate the reality of our relationship with God. If we can't "know" or "feel" God, we customarily doubt our relationship with God. But such "knowing" and "feeling" restrict God to the narrow limits of our minds and senses and reduce our relationship with God to the maintenance of such feedback.

A work of art is essentially the internal made external, resulting from a creative process operating under the impulse of feeling, and embodying the combined product of the poet's perceptions, thoughts, and feelings. The primary source and subject matter of a poem, therefore, are the attributes and actions of the poet's own mind; or of if aspects of the external world, then these only as they are converted from fact to poetry by the feelings and operations of the poet's mind.

How did a person know, he wondered, what was love and what was a facsimile of it? Did it matter? Was the thing that mattered most the action that one took - or failed to take - in the name of that feeling?

I don't like it anymore around here, Meyer. I want to go home. Every time I get blown up by a bomb I get that same feeling. I want to go home.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.

The only thing that really matters is feeling and living what you believe - so long as it's something more than belief in your own comfort.

The only thing that really matters is feeling and living what you believe—so long as it's something more than belief in your own comfort.