Best 3086 quotes in «emotional quotes» category

I may act like I don't care anymore, but if only you could see me inside, you'll know how much I wanted to be with you.

I'm just like the tree... strong-looking but slowly dying.

I’m kind of a contagion cryer. You know how when one person starts yawning, everyone else starts yawning too? Or when someone vomits, the smell makes you want to hurl? I’m like that, except with crying.

I’m mean? That’s the worst you can throw at me?” “Mean and self-pitying. Does that make it better?” “And what are you, Astrid?” he shouted. “A smug know-it-all! You point your finger at me and say, ‘Hey, Sam, you make the decisions, and you take all the heat.’” “Oh, it’s my fault? No way. I didn’t anoint you.” “Yeah, you did, Astrid. You guilted me into it. You think I don’t know what you’re all about? You used me to protect Little Pete. You use me to get your way. You manipulate me anytime you feel like it.” “You really are a jerk, you know that?” “No, I’m not a jerk, Astrid. You know what I am? I’m the guy getting people killed,” Sam said quietly. Then, “My head is exploding from it. I can’t get my brain around it. I can’t do this. I can’t be that guy, Astrid, I’m a kid, I should be studying algebra or whatever. I should be hanging out. I should be watching TV.” His voice rose, higher and louder till he was screaming. “What do you want from me? I’m not Little Pete’s father. I’m not everybody’s father. Do you ever stop to think what people are asking me to do? You know what they want me to do? Do you? They want me to kill my brother so the lights will come back on. They want me to kill kids! Kill Drake. Kill Diana. Get our own kids killed. “That’s what they ask. Why not, Sam? Why aren’t you doing what you have to do, Sam? Tell kids to get eaten alive by zekes, Sam. Tell Edilio to dig some more holes in the square, Sam.” He had gone from yelling to sobbing. “I’m fifteen years old. I’m fifteen.” He sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “Oh, my God, Astrid. It’s in my head, all these things. I can’t get rid of them. It’s like some filthy animal inside my head and I will never, ever, ever get rid of it. It makes me feel so bad. It’s disgusting. I want to throw up. I want to die. I want someone to shoot me in the head so I don’t have to think about everything.” Astrid was beside him, and her arms were around him. He was ashamed, but he couldn’t stop the tears. He was sobbing like he had when he was a little kid, like when he had a nightmare. Out of control. Sobbing. Gradually the spasms slowed. Then stopped. His breathing went from ragged to regular. “I’m really glad the lights weren’t on,” Sam said. “Bad enough you had to hear it.” “I’m falling apart,” he said. Astrid gave no answer, just held him close. And after what felt like a very long time, Sam moved away from her, gently putting distance between them again. “Listen. You won’t ever tell anyone…” “No. But, Sam…” “Please don’t tell me it’s okay,” Sam said. “Don’t be nice to me anymore. Don’t even tell me you love me. I’m about a millimeter from falling apart again.” “Okay.

I'm not talking about the scars that separate your skin, Parker. I'm not blind, I can see those. I'm talking about the scars much deeper than that. The scars that exist within you. The ones you actually try to hide.

I’m sorry,” he tells me. I sit down on the bed. He returns to the view of the street below. I follow his gaze and I see the infected walking slowly back and forth. “It’s okay,” I say. “Okay,” he says. He nods. “Good.” He puts the gun under his chin and pulls the trigger.

I'm very depressed how in this country you can be told "That's offensive" as though those two words constitute an argument.

In Advaita Vedanta, and in many other ancient wisdom traditions, the world is said to be an illusion. This illusion is commonly referred to as maya, a Sanskrit name which refers to the apparent, or objective reality which is superimposed on the ultimate reality in order to generate the phenomena of what we call the material world. Maya is the magic by which we create duality—by which we create two worlds from one. This creation is an illusory creation—it is not real—it is an imaginary manifestation of the one Universal Consciousness, appearing as all of the various phenomena in objective reality. Maya is God’s, or Consciousness’s, creative power of emptying or reflecting itself into all things and thus creating all things—the power of subjectivity to take on objective appearance.

In contrast to the silent, accommodating woman, a man who feels powerless to use his voice violates our very definition of what it means to be a man. Consequently, he may then seek to prove his manhood in the most problematic ways: by being tough and aggressive, by acting up and acting out, or by removing himself emotionally from his relationships. He may be in a relationship where no one is going to tell him what to do, meaning he won’t allow himself to be influenced or even moved by his partner. These are common male responses to feeling utterly helpless to right things through conversation or to speak with clarity, strength, and resolve.

In difficult times bring to mind my words and the sound of my voice. In that way, I shall always be present for you.

In my experience, the biggest reason people struggle to get where they want to be is guilt. Guilt that they have let someone down, and also guilt that they are about to leave someone they love ...behind.

In paying attention to our wellbeing, we address the needs of our environment - the society that we live in and our planet. Sustainability depends on community - when we learn to be happily reliant on each other, we're less likely to turn to material consumption to meet our emotional needs.

‪"In the end it is between "MUNACHI" you and God. It was never between you and them anyway" ‬

In the infinity and chaos that swirls around them, they have fulfilled their purposes: to live their lives with less suffering, to further humanity's forays into the inhospitable void, to love one another unconditionally, endlessly.

In your anger, zip your lips!

In town, there's a tiny beach that's never busy, not even in the summer. I used to like walking there, looking for stuff. Like old fireworks. Or kelp. A hat knocked off someone's head by the wind. You basically never find what you were expecting to. And maybe you weren't expecting to find anything right from the start...

I remembered Daemon's feather soft kisses on my cheek, and I remembered the clouds parting and the sun shining on a cold February day in Ireland. And as my baby girl was laid on my chest and my husband held my hand, I saw my best friend Kat walk into the sun kissed part in the clouds, hand in hand, along with the last regrets of my past.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears. While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick’s furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

I realized that I'm lonely without her and she's incomplete without me. There will be no end to our love story..

I save my truths, my secrets, for the lyrics of our songs... nobody would ever spot them there, hiding in plain sight.

I take my hand back, like a leaf letting go. It hurts too much to hang on. So why does it hurt so much to let go?

It goes so fast, he thought, they don't tell you that, how fast it goes...

I thought you were dead,” I say. “It almost killed me.” “Did it?” His voice is neutral. “You made a pretty fast recovery.” “No. You don’t understand.” My throat is tight; I feel as though I’m being strangled. “I couldn’t keep hoping, and then waking up every day and finding out it wasn’t true, and you were still gone. I—I wasn’t strong enough.” He is quiet for a second. It’s too dark to see his expression: He is standing in shadow again, but I can sense that he is staring at me. Finally he says, “When they took me to the Crypts, I thought they were going to kill me. They didn’t even bother. They just left me to die. They threw me in a cell and locked the door.” “Alex.” The strangled feeling has moved from my throat to my chest, and without realizing it, I have begun to cry. I move toward him. I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss his forehead and each of his eyelids and take away the memory of what he has seen. But he steps backward, out of reach. “I didn’t die. I don’t know how. I should have. I’d lost plenty of blood. They were just as surprised as I was. After that it became a kind of game—to see how much I could stand. To see how much they could do to me before I’d—” He breaks off abruptly. I can’t hear any more; don’t want to know, don’t want it to be true, can’t stand to think of what they did to him there. I take another step forward and reach for his chest and shoulders in the dark. This time, he doesn’t push me away. But he doesn’t embrace me either. He stands there, cold, still, like a statue. “Alex.” I repeat his name like a prayer, like a magic spell that will make everything okay again. I run my hands up his chest and to his chin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Suddenly he jerks backward, simultaneously finding my wrists and pulling them down to my sides. “There were days I would rather they have killed me.” He doesn’t drop my wrists; he squeezes them tightly, pinning my arms, keeping me immobilized. His voice is low, urgent, and so full of anger it pains me even more than his grip. “There were days I asked for it—prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you—the hope for it—was the only thing that kept me going.” He releases me and takes another step backward. “So no. I don’t understand.

It is impossible to connect with other people without believing each other and we can’t believe each other unless we have some common beliefs. A common belief is like a common language through which we communicate at an emotional level.

It is difficult to love someone who loves you, but easy to hate someone who loves you, and love someone who hates you.

It is has been a long time since I have written one of my statuses about life. I have been very busy trying to promote my Fan page, Friends and services, and my books. However, I can tell you all one thing for certain. I am not a Quitter. I will not stop writing books. I will not stop pushing myself to succeed. I will not stop being who I am. I am a winner. Winning is an attitude. You take the good with the bad and you keep on going. It gets hard, you get tired and sometimes burnt out but you keep on going anyway, because you can. Winners have setbacks, but winners learn tighten their belts and go on. Winner look at what has gone wrong and instead of complaining they find ways of doing it better. Winners know that Rome was not built in a day and take every day as it comes. Winners do not whine, they roar.

It is because we feel that we are separate from nature that we also feel it is okay to manipulate it, pollute it, and cause it harm. We project our inner turmoil onto the planet, causing outer turmoil. Nearly all of the disasters of our time—war, famine, oppression, social injustice, environmental pollution, extinction—arise from this delusional belief that we have an existence independent of the world we live in. All of this misery, all of this destruction, all of this pain and suffering, is caused by our failure to realize that there is no separation and that really we are all one.

It is the belief that we instill in them that makes them work round the clock to ensure it comes true.

It is so simple and easy to hate and so grueling and hard to love, when the emotional “love forever”- revelation has become a crumbling “love never, ever again”- crack-up. There is no route back to a paradise lost, when the bonds of trust have, irrevocably, been blasted. ("Another empty room")

It saddens me beyond my tears that love is lost within the fears.

It may be expedient to take stock of all the affecting pieces that might shatter in the wake of an emotional earthquake, once red flags come up in a committed relationship and an overarching scene has to be fashioned for a recast life experience. ("Waiting for the pieces to fall into place")

I took the sing from your song. I made a bed where you don't belong.

It’s amusing how we can sometimes hardly remember our first meetings with the most important people in our lives. Where, how, when we first met becomes all a blur. Somewhere along the way, we realize we have become so emotionally tethered to one another that the moment we first met does not matter. Life before meeting them ceases to exist.

It’s like I’m on a roller-coaster ride, but I’m not allowed to get off. I’m strapped to the seat, and within eyesight the unfinished twirl of the track swirls into the air.

It's either perfect, or it's the worst thing ever made and everyone is an artistic failure, including myself. (Yay, emotional extremes!)

It takes courage to speak or react way slower than you think.

It's piles and piles of emotional homework forever if you ever want to qualify as a grown-up

It was about time she woke up to reality and realized that there was more to being a vampire than just feeding from blood.

It’s not really outstanding when you’re standing out Outcry is the only outburst,if you can’t shout

It took me a long time to realise that mothers are women who carry you And not necessarily in their womb.

It was a room full of ghosts, arranged in readiness for days that would never happen.

It was like a war inside me; I couldn’t even recognize all the sides. There was one that said, ‘No, this is wrong; you know it’s wrong and bad and sinful,’ and there was another that said, ‘Nothing has ever felt so right and natural and true and good,’ and another that said it was happening too fast, and another that just wanted to stop thinking altogether and fling my arms around Annie and hold her forever. There were other sides, too, but I couldn’t sort them out.

It was only that night, dreaming forbidden dreams of Laurence and the clear attraction he had already displayed towards her, that the dream was disturbed. She woke to pain, her eyes and mouth flashing open in a wordless scream as two strong fangs pierced her neck. A body lay across hers, warm and strong as she felt the life being sucked out of her. The moment he knew she was awake, Laurence had pulled back from feeding and smiled at her with a bloody grin. ‘You are mine now, Shiloh. You may never leave this house until the day I die.’ He had warned her, planting a tormenting kiss on her lips before resuming his feed.

It wasn't the wild animals that scared her, but the civilised ones.

I, um, I thought you might want this back.” I pull out the battered old teddy bear and hold it toward him. He frowns and shakes his head and doesn’t reach for it, and I feel like he’s punched me in the gut. Then my baby brother slaps that damned bear out of my hand and crushes his face against my chest, and beneath the odors of sweat and strong soap I can smell it, his smell, Sammy’s, my brother’s.

It will be better to spent our energy on reality; the tangible facts, not thoughts of the past.

I used to feel like i was on the top of the world. Then one day, i noticed that it felt like i was no longer on the top of the world. I was just floating around inside of it. And then eventually, it felt like the world was on top of me.

I wanted to know that she was all right. It was clear she was breathing, she was standing right in front of me, but a lot of people breathing were still dead inside. I needed to know that she wasn't, and if she was, I needed to know how I could help fix her.

I've been waiting for you," he murmured. Aphrodite slowly walked across the balcony, as her mind raced, trying to think of the perfect thing to say in return. All of a sudden a thought came to her that she didn't quite understand, but she knew it was right. It was also important, and would immortalize her and her actions for thousands of years to come. "Happy Valentine's Day," she purred, as she fell into his arms, still holding the box of chocolates and a single red rose.

I've never been so sure about the rest of my life than I am in this moment. This girl is the rest of my life.