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Quotes about Emotion

The English philosopher and geometer, Keith Critchlow, brings his own light to the same point: "The human mind takes apart with its analytic habits of reasoning but the human heart puts things together because it loves them . . ."18
— Wendell Berry
The love he bore to me was his own, but also it was a love that had been borne to him, by people he knew, people I now knew, people he loved. That, I think, is what put tears in his eyes when he looked at me. He must have wondered if I would love those people too. Well, as it turned out, I did. And I would know them as he had never known them, for longer than he knew them. I knew them old, in their final years and days. I know them dead.
— Wendell Berry
It was like falling in love, only more than that; we knew too much by then for it to be only that. It was knowing that love was what it was, and life would not complete it and death would not stop it.
— Wendell Berry
I never shed a tear that day, but all day long I saw Margaret as her father and her grandfather saw her. I loved her that day with my love but also with theirs.
— Wendell Berry
Their failure was something you felt rather than saw.
— Wendell Berry
He was looking at her from behind the smiling that wasn't smiling but was something you were not supposed to see beyond.
— William Faulkner
be.—Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
— William Faulkner
Caddy olÃ
— William Faulkner
It's a comfortable thing, music is.
— William Faulkner
I feel better! I feel! I feel!" until he quit that too and said quietly, looking at the familiar wall, the familiar twin door through which he was about to pass, with tragic and passive clairvoyance: "Something is going to happen to me.
— William Faulkner
Anlay???n ötesindeki sevgi dedikleri bu iÅŸte: bu gurur, yan?m?zda getirdiÄŸimiz, ameliyat odalar?na ta??d???m?z, inatla, k?zg?nl?kla yeniden topraÄŸa götürdüÄŸümüz bu iÄŸrenç ç?plakl???m?z? saklama isteÄŸimiz.
— William Faulkner
as he strode on, moving almost as fast as a smaller man could have trotted, his body breasting the air her body had vacated, his eyes touching the objects—post and tree and field and house and hill—her eyes had lost.
— William Faulkner