Best 3086 quotes in «emotional quotes» category

Fue tu sonrisa la que me llevo a pensar que eras extranjera antes de oírte hablar. (...) Aquí las sonrisas son muy valiosas y poco habituales. Pero tu sonreías todo el tiempo, como si te encantara todo lo que veías. Me dedicaste una sonrisa la primera vez que me viste, incluso con más ganas que antes. Tu sonreíste y yo me perdí, como un niño pequeño en un bosque enorme que ya no puede encontrar el camino de vuelta a casa.

Fyodor Pavlovitch was drunk when he heard of his wife's death, and the story is that he ran out into the street and began shouting with joy, raising his hands to Heaven: "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," but others say he wept without restraint like a little child, so much so that people were sorry for him, in spite of the repulsion he inspired. It is quite possible that both versions were true, that he rejoiced at his release, and at the same time wept for her who released him.

Getting responses on "Through the Milky Way" that it is creating an emotional investment by some of my readers. A gentleman I have know for awhile took the book on a vacation to the beach. While reading it, his wife came up to him and asked him why he was crying. He told her the book was sad and something he could relate to. Had others with the same response.

Geyer and Gary looked at each other and wearily sat down. All the weeks of travel in the hottest months of the year investigating lead after lead, alternating between faith, hope, discouragement, and despair.

Goals doesn't leave you like men, goals wait, they wait for their achievers.

God is a great healer.

God is the ultimate ground of Being, and this ultimate ground of Being is YOU. For one who realizes their true nature as God, as Consciousness, life becomes a joy without end.

Good health is a holy blessing.

Guys have a mental calendar of days in the week, and below the days are empty boxes. On days when they have sex, the box gets a checked. The check mark means all is good and right in the world. An empty box means...not that.

Happy mind, happy soul.

Have you ever had a dream that you were certain was real, only to wake up and realize that everyone and everything in the dream was really you? Well this is how many mystics describe the nature of our reality, as a dream in which we think we are individual personalities existing in the physical universe. But eventually, like in all dreams, we will wake up. Except in this dream we do not wake up to realize we are still in the world, we awake from the world to realize that we are God.

Have you ever experienced a beauty of soul, an esthetic grace, that was so intense it made you want to cry?" From Central Park Song ( A Screenplay )

He continued to stare out the window. "I meant what I said before. You need to walk away, Pidge. God knows I can't walk away from you.

He had placed the life of every one of his men before his own, and if that wasn’t the sign of a truly great leader, then he didn’t know what was.

He didn't just want her now. He needed her. He needed to feel his rhythm in her body, to see if his soul was still there in her pleasure.

He had never cared if his victims lived or died once he was through with them. But not her. He couldn’t allow her to die. The moment he felt that small flutter of her heart, ready to give way to his hunger, he had stopped and gazed down at her for long moments.

He died. And waited.

He had always imagined that some sort of emotional mental equipment was meant to arrive, when he was forty-five, say, or fifty, a kind of kit that would enable him to deal with the impending loss of a parent. If he were only in possession of this equipment, he would be just fine. He would be noble and selfless, wise and philosophical. Perhaps he would even have kids of his own, and would presumably possess the kind of maturity that comes with fatherhood, the understanding of life as a process.

He overheard the director talking to one of the cameramen. The cameraman was explaining that he couldn’t get a good long shot on the exterior because someone had set up a fake graveyard right in the plaza. “Kids just playing around, I guess, but it’s morbid; we’ll have to get rid of it, maybe bring in some sod to—” “No,” Albert said. “We’re almost ready for you,” the director assured him. “That’s not a fake graveyard. Those aren’t fake graves. No one was playing around.” “You’re saying those . . . those are actually . . .” “What do you think happened here?” Albert asked in a soft voice. “What do you think this was?” Absurdly, embarrassingly, he had started to cry. “Those are kids buried there. Some of them were torn apart, you know. By coyotes. By . . . by bad people. Shot. Crushed. Like that. Some of those kids in the ground there couldn’t take it, the hunger and the fear . . . some of those kids out there had to be cut down from the ropes they used to hang themselves. Early on, when we still had any animals? I had a crew go out and hunt down cats. Cats and dogs and rats. Kill them. Other kids to skin them . . . cook them up.” There were a dozen crew people in the McDonald’s. None spoke or moved. Albert brushed away tears and sighed. “Yeah. So don’t mess with the graves. Okay? Other than that, we’re good to go.

He lifted his eyes. They were the color of the deepest heart of hurricane clouds, deeper blue than the sky behind him.

He placed his hand on Willem's arm. 'Willem, don't cry.' 'I'm not going to,' he said. 'I can do other things in life besides cry, you know,' although he was no longer sure that was even true.

Her secret fear? Maybe she didn't tried hard enough.

He rises off the bed and tries to speak, but cannot stop the pain in his throat, and cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and low.

He was in hell. Worse than that, he was in hell, and someone had set it on repeat.

He wanted it to be just right; he didn’t want to make the mistake of trying to tell her he loved her, and having the words come out confused or ending up saying something completely different. He changed into a fresh suit, checked his hair and took a few deep breaths to calm himself, before returning to Amelia’s chambers…only to find her gone. A sigh of frustration escaped him. It was so typical. He told her there was a surprise for her, she was excited, and he was about to confess that he loved her…of course it was only natural for her to ruin it by running off. It was so typically Amelia.

He was really trying to be my friend, without all the emotional baggage we both carried - mine still with me, but carefully folded in vacuum bags so they'd occupy as little room as possible and his, hangin on his shoulders like lead armor, making him slouch sometimes. And yet, as pinned down as he was, he was the one comforting me, supporting not only his weight but mine, too. It wasn't fair.

He was the monster that no one thought to look for in the light of day. It was a common mistake. People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night. But safety - like light - is a facade. Underneath, the whole world is drenched in darkness.

His eyes danced like a teenager. "Eat anyone alive today?" her father joked. Ruby returned his wicked grin and sauntered into the living room. "Not today, but tomorrow's another day.

His emotions are not for men, they are for his vision.

Hey, Sam,” Drake shouted. “I thought you’d like to know this isn’t my whole army.” Sam didn’t doubt it. “Your girl Brianna tried to stop us.” Drake waved a bowie knife in the air. “I took this from her. I whipped her, Sam.” He snapped his whip hand. The crack was like a pistol shot. “I broke her legs so she couldn’t run. Then . . .” Dekka was halfway over the side, ready to swim ashore. Jack grabbed her and held her. “Let me go!” Dekka yelled. “Hold her,” Sam ordered Jack. “Don’t be stupid, Dekka. He wants us to come rushing at him.” “I can beat him,” Jack said. “Dekka and me together, we can kill him.” Sam registered the fact that Jack was actually making a physical threat. He didn’t remember ever hearing that kind of thing from Jack. But Dekka was Sam’s greater concern. “I’m going to kill him,” Dekka said in a voice so deep in her throat she sounded like an animal. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.” Then she shouted, “I’m going to kill you, Drake. I’m going to kill you!” Drake grinned. “I think she liked it. She was screaming, but she liked it.” “He’s lying,” Toto said. “Who?” Sam snapped. “Him.” He pointed at Drake. “He hasn’t killed that girl or hurt her.” Dekka relaxed and Sam and Jack let go of her. “Truth-teller Toto,” Sam whispered. “He can tell when people are lying.” “I just decided I like you,” Dekka said to Toto. “You might be useful.” Toto frowned. “It’s true: you just decided you like me.

Higher learning undergoes emotional pressure.

HlI watch Ethan try to connect the dots in his head, And suddenly his face falls into a sad smile. "Oh," he says. And that's all. I walk over to him, my bare feet sinking into the sand as I trudge along. He's grinning at me now, but it's not the usual plastered-on smile he usually has. This one is somehow more authentic. When I'm within a few feet of him, he holds his arms out. "You're going to be such a good leader," he says. "I'm so proud of you, Five." I embrace Ethan. His arms fold around me as he pats me on the back. He lets out a long, slow sigh and then starts to say something. I cut him off before he can get the words out. I can't stand to hear him say another thing. "Ethan, I'm really sorry about this. But it's for the best." I can feel his body clench as the blade slips out of my forearm sheath and into his back. It slides between his ribs-a lucky shot- then retracts back into my hoodie sleeve. It's over in an instant. I step away from him. He stands frozen, probably in shock. There's a deep spot of read blooming across the right side of his chest where the blade must have broken the skin. Blood drops down from the hidden wrist sheath, running over my right hand before falling from my fingertips to the sand. "It's over," I murmur, more to myself than to Ethan. He's probably not paying much attention to what I have to say. Tears are welling in his good eye, but I don't know if they're for me or for himself. He blinks once and then falls to the beach with a soft thud.

How is it possible, you ask, for love to be greater than the person who does the loving? That’s because love defies the rules of reason. It is the only exception.

I always am in a role, lovely – for you, for them – even for myself. Yeah... Even when I’m alone, I am still in a role – and I myself am the most exacting audience I have ever had.

Hunter’s dead,” Taylor said without preamble. “It was these . . . these things. They came crawling up out of him and were eating him, oh God, I mean, it was like . . . I mean he was crying and Dekka prayed with him and he tried to fry his own brain just like he did with Harry only I guess it didn’t work, I guess he couldn’t do it, so Sam . . .” She swallowed. “Anyone have some water?” “What about Sam?” Astrid demanded. “He did it for him. Sam. I mean, he . . . Hunter was, you know . . . so Sam.” She pantomimed raising her hands, like Sam, like he would do when using his power. Astrid closed her eyes and crossed herself. “Rest in peace,” Edilio said and crossed himself as well. “Sam burned the boy?” Howard asked. Then, bitterly sarcastic said, “Yeah, you all pray to Jesus. Because Jesus is really providing a lot of help here. Sounds to me like Sam was the one doing what had to be done.

I can’t pinpoint the moment this all happened. The moment we broke. But we did. And it feels like acid in my throat.

I am emotionally fluid and safe.

I am not a Books warm, but I like Books too much.

I can’t help you, I can only guide you, and you are the one who can help yourself.

I cried to the Lord. He heard my tears of prayer, from His holy hill.

I'd developed an inability to demonstrate much negative emotion at all. It was another thing that made me seem like a dick - my stomach could be all oiled eels, and you would get nothing from my face and less from my words. It was a constant problem: too much control or no control at all.

If I could only teach you one thing about the world, it would be to Appreciate and be as present as possible in every moment. Take everything in and try and learn from it. No matter how tangled things get, there is always a lesson to be learned in the untangling of those things.

I don't care anymore, don't you understand that? I am doing what I am doing because I must do it. And when everything ends my ultimate reward is that I end with it, because I cannot stand to be a part of a creation that did what it did to you.

I don't want to force my mind to love someone else or adjust with someone whom I never can give my true love. #Life Of Love - Film

If death had a sound, it would be the broken wails of my mother. She's dying, her broken heart ripping her to shreds for all to witness.

If ever you feel lost, terrified, alone, emotionally and physically drained...when you feel like depression has overpowered you, and that the world itself, has devoured you...just remember that you are not alone, you are loved, you are a beautiful story waiting to be told.” -Nina Jean Slack, Once Lost, Forever Found (Vol. #1)

I do not have silver nor gold to give you, but i have a heart of gold to keep you.

I don’t want people to fall in love with my smile, my face or my body. I am waiting for somebody to love the mess I can be and fall in love with my emotional scars.

I find that is the best way to write during emotional scenes...put yourself and your emotions in every single word.-Nina Jean Slack

If I was set an essay on Friday, I’d spend three hours on Saturday morning in the library. Was that normal? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I felt less prone to depression and more normal walking through Venice or staring out over the lake in Zurich. At home I wrestled continually with my moods. The black thing inside me gnawed like a rat at my self-esteem and self-confidence. I felt there was a happy person inside me too, who wanted to enjoy life, to be normal, but my feelings of self-loathing and the deep distrust I had towards my father wouldn’t allow that sunny person to come out. When the black thing had an iron grip on me, I couldn’t even look at my father: Did you do bad things to me when I was little? Like a line from a song stuck in your brain, the words ran through my head and never once came out of my mouth. Not that I needed to say what was in my mind. I was sure Father could read my thoughts in my moods, in the blank, dead stare of my eyes. It was hardly surprising that there was always an atmosphere of strain and awkwardness in the house, and the blame was always mine: Alice and her moods, Alice and her anorexia; Alice and her low self-esteem; Alice and her inescapable feelings of loss and emptiness.