Best 2079 quotes in «emotion quotes» category

Sentimentality is a quality that rarely has the slightest influence on action.

Sentimentality was used because other political avenues were closed, and authors hoped that through it they could bring about a political change that would fulfill the egalitarian promises of the Revolution. Real political venues were unavailable, so fiction became a medium for authors to appeal to audiences for change.

Sex does not thrive on monotony. Without feeling, inventions, moods,no surprises in bed. Sex must be mixed with tears, laughter, words, promises, scenes, jealousy, envy, all the spices of fear, foreign travel, new faces, novels, stories, dreams, fantasies, music, dancing, opium, wine.

She begins to feel that the reality show is the university she never attended. Vicarious reality. Emotion without a value-added tax. Movement without danger. Alma finds her reality. She no longer has a reason to put herself at risk and go out into the hostile, degrading world.

She could afford anything, she could give anything, but she could not share a moment of her life with anybody. She was a beautiful and a glamorous diamond with an astronomical price tag, but to a crude reality — she was still a stone, a living stone. Nothing else but a stone in an aesthetic sense.

She can feel it scratching at her, her anger, wedged in the space where the two halves of her rib cage meet.

She did not understand music and it upset her, it had only sad, tragic things to say. These leaping forms, these pursuits and insistences, these elusive desperate repetitions, always seemed to her like one long cry of agony. She could not, in this company, allow herself the luxury of self-pitying tears, which was her highest tribute to the art. She looked about her and let the music gather to her the people with whom she was so deeply concerned.

She did not know it, but she was actually in despair at the poverty of human emotions. Was it not irrational that there was nothing to do except weep when ten people died, just as one wept for but a single person?

She gasped. “You know what your problem is? You don’t take yourself… or anything… seriously enough!” She sat rigidly, her teeth and her buttocks clenched tight, nostrils flaring with each impassioned breath, tears burning the back of her eyelids. Was she really having this debate with Bruce Koczynski? A man she believed incapable of these intense opinions and complex ideas? She didn’t even know he had the vocabulary. It was utterly disorienting.

She had been too well-trained to allow her emotions to take control of her at the time, but the feelings were too strong to quietly recede into a regimen of critical thought. Deep inside her they stewed, logic and reason slowly boiling off. Reduced to their essence, her feelings became more potent, condensed into an emotional certainty. I should have saved them.

She is made up of depths even the ocean couldn't fathom.

She knew that each emotion came and went, knew that she could cope with whatever life threw at her.

She knows what it is to be sad and miserable, but those emotions are almost enjoyable. They throw moments of happiness and laughter into sharper relief.

She liked the word ineffable because it meant a feeling so big or vast that it could not be expressed in words. And yet, because it could not be expressed in words, people had invented a word to express it, and that made Liesl feel hopeful, somehow.

She never knows when it might strike. The rage. And when it does, she loses her grip on herself—literally. At times, she could swear she sees another self—shiny black phantom, faceless, as though clad in a bodysuit—leaping out of her, pulling the rest of her in its wake. Over the edge.

She wanted to get some personal profit out of things, and she rejected as useless all that did not contribute to the immediate desires of her heart, being of a temperament more sentimental than artistic, looking for emotions, not landscapes.

She wasn't being methodological. She was being autobiographical.

She was too well-trained to panic.

Shift your attention, and your emotion shifts. Shift your emotion, and your attention shifts.

Sin is a fundamental failure to rejoice in what we should rejoice in.

Some people call me sick and twisted. I feel that I'm neither; I am instead a Romantic.

So, if you're a doctor, how can you recognize that you're having a feeling? Some tips from Dr. Zinn: Most emotions have physical counterparts. Anxiety may be associated with a tightness of the abdomen or excessive diaphoresis; anger may be manifested by a generalized muscle tightness or a clenching of the jaw; sexual arousal may be noted by a tingling of the loins or piloerection; and sadness may be felt by conjunctival injection or heaviness of the chest.

Some of us walk around with a necklace of hope, an armour of sanity, but at the end of the day, they always come off. We reveal our naked, vulnerable, real selves.

Slowly, tears began to tip over again from her swollen eyelids, leaving sad, pale trails in her ruined makeup, and as always when he made a witness cry, James felt uncomfortably like the school bully.

Sociopath. A label given, and a title received. A definition adorned? Or perhaps a ribbon atop a word.

So long as this struggle known as life goes on, there will always be the music to fit the mood and make it better.

Some people are as angry as they seem to be only because it's the safest place to hide from more pain.

Some primal force roared inside him, his possessive streak taking charge. He cupped the back of her head, her hair falling over the back of his hand like silk, and tightened his grip. The moment she softened against him, he took control.

Sometimes happiness can come very simply, purely, merely if one is ready to embrace it with open arms.

Sometimes, hope is even harder to bear than grief.

Some things are too big to be seen; some emotions too huge to be felt.

Sometimes he was weird, sometimes he was Captain Douchebag, but he was always my best friend.

Sometimes I grow so tired of speaking my emotions to you. I open my mouth and dust spills out instead of feelings.

Sometimes, I recall the little things in life that make the journey more joyful, like the cheerful guy playing the accordion in Paris, on the way to Versailles. Of course everyone has their own perspective, but I believe that music does indeed provide more substance to life, so I dare imagine that one day I could walk through life as in a movie scene, with a soundtrack accompanying and enriching my every emotion, slowly dancing a tango towards one of those "and then they lived happily ever after" endings.

Sometimes the best way to deal with a breakup is to declare emotional bankruptcy.

Sometimes in the great soundtrack of our lives there are no words, there are only emotions; I believe this is why God gave us classical music.

Sometimes the person you'd take a bullet for is the person behind the trigger.

Speaking a painful truth should be done only in love - like wielding a sword with no hilt - it should pain oneself in direct proportion to the amount of force exerted.

Sometimes you are more comfortable with a person who gets close without coming close.

Spiritual highs help you overcome emotional lows.

Spirituality is more a feeling, an emotion deep within your heart that rises to tell the mind that there is something ethereal in the surroundings.

Stay away from people who drive your emotions crazily. Find a better company!

Stendhal knows the source of his greatest happiness and his worst misery: the reflexivity of his spiritual life. When he loves, enjoys beauty, feels free and unconstrained, he realizes not only the bliss of these feelings but, at the same time, the happiness of being aware of this happiness. But now that he ought to be completely absorbed by his happiness and feel redeemed from all his limitations and inadequacies, he is still full of problems and doubts: Is that the whole story?—he asks himself. Is that what they call love? Is it possible to love, to feel, to be delighted and yet to observe oneself so coolly and so calmly? Stendhal’s answer is by no means the usual one, which assumes the existence of an insurmountable gulf between feeling and reason, passion and reflexion, love and ambition, but is based on the assumption that modern man simply feels differently, is enraptured and enthusiastic differently from a contemporary of Racine or Rousseau. For them, spontaneity and reflexivity of the emotions were incompatible, for Stendhal and his heroes they are quite inseparable; none of their passions is so strong as the desire to be constantly calling themselves to account for what is going on inside them. Compared with the older literature, this self consciousness implies just as profound a change as Stendhal’s realism, and the overcoming of classical-romantic psychology is just as strictly one of the preconditions of his art as the abolition of the alternative between the romantic escape from the world and the anti-romantic belief in the world.

Storytelling is inherently dangerous. Consider a traumatic event in your life. Think about how you experienced it. Now think about how you told it to someone a year later. Now think about how you told it for the hundredth time. It's not the same thing. Most people think perspective is a good thing: you can figure out characters' arcs, you can apply a moral, you can tell it with understanding and context. But this perspective is a misrepresentation: it's a reconstruction with meaning, and as such bears little resemblance to the event.

Take a quick inventory: “How do I feel? Is my energy level low; am I sleep deprived or worried about a few things in particular? What is on my mind (job, kids, health, finances, politics)? Am I hungry, hangry (low blood sugar levels), or did I just get up on the wrong side of the bed?” All these things, though seemingly inconsequential, really can influence how you feel physically, mentally, and emotionally, and how you react to what’s to come.

Struggle is a prerequisite to surrender.

Suppose that we agree that the two atrocities can or may be mentioned in the same breath. Why should we do so? I wrote at the time (The Nation, October 5, 1998) that Osama bin Laden 'hopes to bring a "judgmental" monotheism of his own to bear on these United States.' Chomsky's recent version of this is 'considering the grievances expressed by people of the Middle East region.' In my version, then as now, one confronts an enemy who wishes ill to our society, and also to his own (if impermeable religious despotism is considered an 'ill'). In Chomsky's reading, one must learn to sift through the inevitable propaganda and emotion resulting from the September 11 attacks, and lend an ear to the suppressed and distorted cry for help that comes, not from the victims, but from the perpetrators. I have already said how distasteful I find this attitude. I wonder if even Chomsky would now like to have some of his own words back? Why else should he take such care to quote himself deploring the atrocity? Nobody accused him of not doing so. It's often a bad sign when people defend themselves against charges which haven't been made.

Take lightly what you hear about individuals. We need not distort trust for our paltry little political agendas. We tend to trust soulless, carried information more than we trust soulful human beings; but really most people aren't so bad once you sit down and have an honest, one-on-one conversation with them, once, with an open heart, you listen to their explanations as to why they act the way they act, or say what they say, or do what they do.

Talking about abstract things is important. Having big, wild conversations about concepts like art, music, time travel, and dreams makes it much easier when you’ll eventually need to talk about things like anger, sadness, pain, and love.

Tears have always been easier to shed than explain.