Best 2079 quotes in «emotion quotes» category

I looked inward at my heart. And indeed, there too, the criss-cross corsetry was slackened and gaping. I was all undone. Potentially, I could spill. Or tangle. And so I began to tug at my own heartstrings, pulling them up tight until there was just the right amount of tension at each criss and each cross. Then I bent down to my boots and laced them firmly too, first the left, then the right, finishing off on each side with a surgeon's shoelace knot.

I loved him to death. Then I came to realization with how arrogant he was and instead of falling out of love, I fell harder. Every passing day I fell a little harder, a little faster, and a little sadder. I became anxious, obsessive, hurt, and sad. But one morning I awoke to realize I fell out of it. I loved him. I still do. But I was in love with him until the death of the relationship. Now I just love him. From afar. From the knowledge. From the happiness an individual gave me.

I love him. So much. To the point where you won’t understand. You don’t get it because I don’t get it. It’s there. It exists. It flows. It moves like rapids through my veins. Comes with bursts and occasionally fades with the day, but it’s always there. And when you find love like that, you don’t want to give it up. But sometimes you have to and sometimes you have to give it to someone else. That’s the hard part.

I love the passions. They create such sensation! Anger, grief, fear, love, hate, excitement. The fierce emotions make one feel. Such are a gift, so one knows one is alive. To live without passion is to have no life at all.

I love to touch and be touched, to move and be moved.

I love you," I whispered hoarsely. "You're my favourite person." The tears blurred in my eyes again. "And if you ever tell anyone I cried during this moment I will withhold sex for a year.

I'm accustomed to reading Georgian and Victorian letters and sometimes you simply know in your gut that a blithe sentence is covering up a deeper emotion.

I’m a feeler. I feel everything deep within my core. Even when I don’t want to. I don’t know where my emotions stop and my empathy begins. I feel from the tips of my toes to the follicles of my head. I feel with every fiber, every molecule, every tissue, marrow, muscle, and bone in my body. I feel.

I’m a very intense person. The way I look in your eyes, my stance, how I walk and choose my words. The way I say your name and the look in my eye that says I need you here. I have an extremely distinct aptitude for the way I present myself and the energy I give off. It sounds egocentric, but they always remember my name, my mind and the force behind my voice.

I’m fading, Bethany, I know it. I think that’s what happened to my dad, that’s why I can’t see him. One day I’ll be so see-through that you’ll forget I was ever here, just like everyone else has.

I might have been made of metal once, but not anymore. Like Pinocchio, I'd turned into a real girl. So far it sucked. But there was nothing I could do about it.

I mistakenly believed that I was my emotions.

I’m thankful for my sanity or whatever’s left of it.

In a certain sense it might well be said that his was an exemplary life. He was one of those rare people, rare in our town as elsewhere, who have the courage of their good feelings. What little he told of his personal life vouched for acts of kindness and a capacity for affection that no one in our times dares own to. Without a blush he confessed to dearly loving his nephews and sister, his only surviving near relation, whom he went to France to visit every other year. He admitted that the thought of his parents, whom he lost when he was very young, often gave him a pang. He did not conceal the fact that he had a special affection for a church bell in his part of the town which started pealing very melodiously at about five every afternoon.

i must feel this emotion with my whole being and as it sweeps me off my feet enjoy the sensation of falling falling endlessly into the arms of no lover

In any case, perhaps the quest for data to support our actions gets overemphasized. After all, our emotions distinguish us. Art and poetry and music are from and to the human heart, as is, for many, our relationship with the land.' ~ Randy Morgenson

Indifference is a pose. Underneath, a heart is beating.

I never cry at the theatre. It seems to me that I feel things far too deeply, too deep down in my heart, to---to splash on top!

In Life, What Would Be Best For You, You Know It Best....

Inilah aku, Sang Helang. Diri bukan untuk dijinakkan atau dipelihara. Tetapi untuk terbang bebas di angkasa raya.

In love everything changes, and continues changing all the time. There is no stillness, no stopped clock of the heart in which the moment of happiness holds forever, but only the constant whirring forward motion of desire and need, rising and falling, falling and rising, full of doubts then certainties that moment by moment change and become doubts again.

In fiction, the characters have their own lives. They may start as a gloss on the author’s life, but they move on from there. In poetry, especially confessional poetry but in other poetry as well, the poet is not writing characters so much as emotional truth wrapped in metaphor. Bam! Pow! A shot to the gut.

In intertwining sentimentality, healing, narcissism, and authority, modern evangelicals give authority to those emotions themselves...The sentimental becomes evidence and authority in a world in which most evangelicals have given up intellectual pursuits and concerns over doctrine. Essentially, sentimentality represents an abandonment of theology and critical introspection in popular evangelicalism. Instead of crafting intellectual responses to the challenges to evangelicalism, popular evangelicals appeal to the power of feeling as an authority to counteract science and criticism of the Bible. They offer their audiences the opportunity to FEEL that evangelicalism is right rather than asking them to accept the veracity of doctrinal positions of evangelicalism.

Instead of letting our emotions run amok with our minds, we can use our minds as tools that allow us to build realities that serve us better, and we attract what we are meant to attract because we are aware and self-empowered enough to choose most of the time.

Instead of letting our emotions run amok, we can use our minds as tools to build or create realities that serve us better

In the End of the story everyone feels unpleasant and unworthy.

Internet has grown to not only touch humans in a physical sense but also in an emotional sense.

In the early days, I might have gotten on stage and begun to sing as a desperate attempt to communicate, but now I found that singing was both a physical and emotional joy. It was sensuous, a pure pleasure, which didn't take away from the emotions being expressed—even if they were melancholic. Music can do that; you can enjoy singing about something sad.

In their quest to hit cloud Nine, our young men and women in their prime are gradually finding themselves on ground Zero, emotionally battered, academically bankrupt and medically paralyzed.

In the campaign of 1876, Robert G. Ingersoll came to Madison to speak. I had heard of him for years; when I was a boy on the farm a relative of ours had testified in a case in which Ingersoll had appeared as an attorney and he had told the glowing stories of the plea that Ingersoll had made. Then, in the spring of 1876, Ingersoll delivered the Memorial Day address at Indianapolis. It was widely published shortly after it was delivered and it startled and enthralled the whole country. I remember that it was printed on a poster as large as a door and hung in the post-office at Madison. I can scarcely convey now, or even understand, the emotional effect the reading of it produced upon me. Oblivious of my surroundings, I read it with tears streaming down my face. It began, I remember: "The past rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life.We hear the sounds of preparation--the music of boisterous drums--the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers..." I was fairly entranced. he pictured the recruiting of the troops, the husbands and fathers with their families on the last evening, the lover under the trees and the stars; then the beat of drums, the waving flags, the marching away; the wife at the turn of the lane holds her baby aloft in her arms--a wave of the hand and he has gone; then you see him again in the heat of the charge. It was wonderful how it seized upon my youthful imagination. When he came to Madison I crowded myself into the assembly chamber to hear him: I would not have missed it for every worldly thing I possessed. And he did not disappoint me. A large handsome man of perfect build, with a face as round as a child's and a compelling smile--all the arts of the old-time oratory were his in high degree. He was witty, he was droll, he was eloquent: he was as full of sentiment as an old violin. Often, while speaking, he would pause, break into a smile, and the audience, in anticipation of what was to come, would follow him in irresistible peals of laughter. I cannot remember much that he said, but the impression he made upon me was indelible. After that I got Ingersoll's books and never afterward lost an opportunity to hear him speak. He was the greatest orater, I think, that I have ever heard; and the greatest of his lectures, I have always thought, was the one on Shakespeare. Ingersoll had a tremendous influence upon me, as indeed he had upon many young men of that time. It was not that he changed my beliefs, but that he liberated my mind. Freedom was what he preached: he wanted the shackles off everywhere. He wanted men to think boldly about all things: he demanded intellectual and moral courage. He wanted men to follow wherever truth might lead them. He was a rare, bold, heroic figure.

In the immediate aftermath of the great Chicago fire, a business proprietor erected a shack in front of his burned-out business. On a sign, he placed his name and the tagline that everything was gone but wife, children, and energy.

In the serenity and quiet of this lovely place, touch the depths of truth, feel the hem of Heaven. And when you leave, don't forget why you came...

In the unconscious state of being things can seem good, bad, emotional, complex, revolutionary... - So you have a direct indicator for the level of your unconsciousness and disconnectedness. The more emotional or thinking you are, the deeper you are in illusion, in sleep.

In the world of the Machiguenga, sadness could be equated with anger, and anger was a perilous emotion, by which a foreigner could lose his life.

In truth she is not a hard lady naturally, and the time has been when the sight of the venerable figure suing to her with such strong earnestness would have moved her to great compassion. But so long accustomed to suppress emotion and keep down reality, so long schooled for her own purposes in that destructive school which shuts up the natural feelings of the heart like flies in amber and spreads one uniform and dreary gloss over the good and bad, the feeling and the unfeeling, the sensible and the senseless, she had subdued even her wonder until now.

I pass from hot to cold in an instant, without any reason; I am puzzled by parts of my character. And I haven’t said anything very much, or given you any notion of the terrific high waves, and the infernal deep gulfs, on which I mount and toss;

Introverts just just don't buzz as easily.

In truth, she hadn't put much thought into whether she was happy before. She supposes that since she never thought about it, she must have been happy. People who are happy don't really need to ask themselves if they are happy or not, do they? They just are happy, she thinks.

Irony is only skin deep. Undernearh, a heart is beating.

Is lawlessness to be permitted, simply because it is effected with a certain style? Jane, Jane! Where are your finer sensibilities? All o'erthrown, by a man with a golden tongue and a mocking glance?

I should not mistake her calm probing for the absence of anger.

Isn't it the task of the Holy Spirit to introduce some madness and intoxication into the world? Why this propensity for balance and safety? Don't we all long for one moment of raw risk, one moment of divine madness?

I stand in the dark, start to unbutton. Then I hear something inside my body. I've broken, something has cracked, that must be it. Noise is coming up, coming out, of the broken place, in my face. Without warning: I wasn't thinking about here or there or anywhere. If I let the noise get out into the air it will be laughter, too loud, too much of it, someone is bound to hear.

It ate at whatever was warm nearby, and then the coldness settled in permanently. You learned to live with it

I suddenly realise that it doesn't matter how far I go, or how lost I am, or how lonely I feel. I fit in here. I always will. That's how I know I'm home.

It felt kind of good to scream. I wished it were socially acceptable to scream more often. Not in class or anything, but maybe there could be some roped-off area or campus designated for screaming your cares away.

It doesn't mean,' she shrugged. 'It just is

It had been so long since she had felt anything.

It doesn't follow that the riots mean permanent hostility toward him.

It fluttered Nicholas's collar and made his eyes water, blurring the stars. And then the sensation of tears seemed to trigger a sort of emotional reflex, for the next thing he knew, Nicholas was truly crying, which surprised him.