You're from Mars; I'm from Venus.

I was in my cave.

My wave crashed.

I have a headache.

I thought you'd think it was sexy.

It was the heat of the moment.

I was blinded by passion.

It's not a fault it's a fetish.

Performance anxiety.

This is just how men/women are.

My crotch does all my thinking.

I misread the manual.

It wasn't in the rules.

Love makes you do funny things.

I'm messed up from reading self-help books.

Estrogen.

I'm lovesick.

Imperfections are endearing.

Testosterone.

I'm not Superman.

I'm not Wonder Woman.

I'm cute enough to get away with it.

I don't want to.

We'll only end up all tearful and I'm having such a great day.

I'll just get hurt. You wouldn't understand.

My psychiatrist says just to tell him for the time being.

I experience my emotions on a pre-verbal level. To refine them through language is to change and corrupt them.

I take seriously the Miranda warning: anything I say can and will be used against me.

Every time I talk about my feelings, I get a migraine headache.

Who do you think you are, my shrink?

I was brought up in a culture where speaking about emotions was a sign of weakness.

You humans are so irrational. We Vulcans have no word that corresponds to your "feelings."

To me, "feelings" is just the title of a sappy song.

I believe in action.

I think I've proven myself through what I've done. What could words possibly add?

I'm a lawyer. I'm trained to argue, not to reveal.

All this feelings stuff is so manipulative. You try and make the other person do what you want so your feelings won't be hurt. It's like dealing with my mother all over again. Forget it.