emotions

When something__ really bothering me, I just like to get it out. I like to completely give in to the emotion. If I pretend I__ not sad__f I try smiling through it, and pretending like everything__ fine__t makes it worse. When I give in and let it out, I feel better.

Everything she heard, everything she saw seemed to be in disagreement with her own manner of understanding and feeling. To her, the sun did not appear red enough, the nights pale enough, the skies deep enough. Her fleeting conception of things and beings condemned her fatally to a perversion of her senses, to vagaries of the spirit and left her nothing but the torment of an unachieved longing, the torture of unfulfilled desires.

A man who under the influence of mental pain or unbearably oppressive suffering sends a bullet through his own head is called a suicide; but for those who give freedom to their pitiful, soul-debasing passions in the holy days of spring and youth there is no name in man's vocabulary. After the bullet follows the peace of the grave: ruined youth is followed by years of grief and painful recollections. He who has profaned his spring will understand the present condition of my soul. I am not yet old, or grey, but I no longer live. Psychiaters tell us that a solider, who was wounded at Waterloo, went mad, and afterwards assured everybody - and believed it himself - that he had died at Waterloo, and that what was now considered to be him was only his shadow, a reflection of the past. I am now experiencing something resembling this semi-death..

The thing about people though, I think, is that our hearts tend to do a great job holding on to the horrible stuff and a horrible job holding on to the good. Or at least we're like that until we learn how to not be like that.

Tears are a form of communication - like speech - and require a listener.

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness," "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered my story, I need them more than ever.

Though we are emotional beings, we are not our emotions. Remember this the next time you find yourself struggling.

People not only stood to respect it but perhaps their thoughts and heartbeats came to standstill, and only inspiration and patriotism was flowing through their veins.

I think there is something beautiful in reveling in sadness. The proof is how beautiful sad songs can be. So I don__ think being sad is to be avoided. It__ apathy and boredom you want to avoid. But feeling anything is good, I think. Maybe that__ sadistic of me.

It is a grave injustice to a child or adult to insist that they stop crying. One can comfort a person who is crying which enables him to relax and makes further crying unnecessary; but to humiliate a crying child is to increase his pain, and augment his rigidity. We stop other people from crying because we cannot stand the sounds and movements of their bodies. It threatens our own rigidity. It induces similar feelings in ourselves which we dare not express and it evokes a resonance in our own bodies which we resist.

What is love for, if not to intensify our affections__oth in life and death? But, O, do not be bitter. It is tragically self-destructiveto be bitter.

There is greater clarity in the still waters of sadness, something not found in the babbling brooks of more sought after emotions.

Time doesn't always heal all wounds.

I truly do not know, and that unnameable feeling that comes with not knowing: it must be worse than grief. It must.

[I]t wasn't history that was too fragile, but me.

I think there were times when I was so afraid of losing you that I forgot I even had you at all.

I tell you of loss, my child, so you will listen, slowly, and know that in life every emotion is fated to rear itself within your being. Don't judge it proper or ugly. It's simply there and yours. When you should happen to cry, then cry, knowing that just as easily you will laugh again and cry again. Your feelings will enter the currents of your core and there they shall remain

Laine slowly rolled out of bed. The queen size was one of the few new things in the house. But now, even the new bed felt tainted. It was an inner-spring monument to lies, a petri dish of mendacity she had shared with her faithless husband, and shared now with creeping dreams that flew from the light but left harsh scratches and diseased black feathers. Laine promised herself that, as soon as, she could, she would rid herself of this house, this bed, her clothes, her jewelry - everything but the flesh she lived in. She would scrub herself clean and flee to start a new life whose first and only commandment would be: Never let thyself be lied to again.