The best book, like the best speech, will do it all - make us laugh, think, cry and cheer - preferably in that order.
Catalog
Quotes tagged ‘Feelings’
I think you are wrong to want a heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a heart.
She’s letting out her feelings. The scary thing is not being able to do that. When your feelings build up and harden and die inside, then you’re in big trouble.
You will never be able to escape from your heart. So it’s better to listen to what it has to say.
Always be honest about the way someone makes you feel about yourself.
Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go.
You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I always made you feel. Like you were the centre of my world. Because you were. I would have done anything for you.
Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.
The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a physical necessity.
Lonely people have enthusiasms which cannot always be explained. When something strikes them as funny, the intensity and length of their laughter mirrors the depth of their loneliness, and they are capable of laughing like hyenas. When something touches their emotions, it runs through them… awakenin…
Every decision you make is made on the basis of emotion, either fear or desire.
Feelings are just visitors, let them come and go.
— Mooji, youtube.com
You’re not in love with me, not really, you just love the way I always made you feel. Like you were the centre of my world. Because you were. I would have done anything for you.
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull.
Somewhere, far down, there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out.
She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.
You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.
Sensitivity isn’t being wimpy. It’s about being so painfully aware that a flea landing on a dog is like a sonic boom.
Men spoke of how the heart broke up, but never spoke of how the soul hung speechless in the pause, the void, the terror between the living and the dead.
What matters is precisely this; the unspoken at the edge of the spoken.