Quotes about Emotions

There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, for someone, pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echos.

Mesmerized, all she can do is watch this piece of her life move off; all she can do is watch it and suffer. She is experiencing a brand-new feeling called nostalgia. That feeling, that irrepressible yearning to return, suddenly reveals to her the existence of the past, the power of the past, of her past; in the house of her life […] from now on her existence will be inconceivable without these feelings.

She was experiencing the same odd happiness and odd sadness as then. The sadness meant: we are at the last station. The happiness meant: we are together.

Love is a constant interrogation.

Ä°nsan hiçbir ÅŸeyi, hiçbir kimseyi ciddiye alamay?nca yaÅŸamak ne kadar da hüzün verici!

She refused at first, saying it would make a mockery of their love. She loved him too much to admit that what she thought of as unforgettable could ever be forgotten. Finally, of course, she did as he asked, but without enthusiasm. The notebooks showed it: they had many empty pages, and the entries were fragmentary.

How would I explain to him that I couldn't make peace with him? How would I explain that if I did I would immediately lose my inner balance? How would I explain that one of the arms of my internal scales would suddenly shoot upward? How would I explain that my hatred of him counterbalanced the weight of evil that had fallen on my youth? How would I explain that he embodied all the evils in my life? How would I explain to him that I needed to hate him?

How could someone who had so little respect for people be so dependent on what they thought of him?

He was on a quest for sensations he had never experienced, did not understand; he was looking for them in his partner (on the watch for each little emotion her face might reflect), he looked for them in himself (for interminable hours of introspection)

She saw her soul shinning through the features on her face.

Then what do you care about?' 'Love', she said with a smile. 'Love?' Franz asked in amazement. 'Love is a battle', said Marie-Claude, still smiling. 'And I plan to go on fighting. To the end.' 'Love is a battle? said Franz. 'Well, I don't feel at all like fighting.' And he left.

The tons of steel of the Russian tanks were nothing compared with it. For there is nothing heavier compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.