Quotes About Intensity

So," Wanda cried, "a woman in furs is nothing more than a large cat, a charged electric battery?

You are cold, while you yourself fan flames.

I am for hockey. I find I should like to hit something with a stick. -Gemma Doyle Trilogy

He's got a laugh like a machine gun firing through velvet.

He took her face into his hands and his kiss blotted out the sky

Oh, Evie, you're too much,' people said, and it wasn't complementary. Yes, she was too much. She felt like too much inside all the time.

Sí, era demasiado. Por dentro se sentía como si fuera demasiado continuamente.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, / The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned; / The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity,'" Memphis quoted. "W. B. Yeats. 'The Second Coming.

But never had he felt more enthralled than he was right now, sitting beside Evie on a weathered old dock, with a blazing afternoon sun, almost brutal in its clarity, bathing everything in pure light. Sweat trickled down his back and chest from the steamy heat, and his entire body pulsed with life. Even his fingertips throbbed. It took all of his formidable self-control to prevent himself from pushing her down on the dock and spreading her legs for his entry.

Okay, you're right; she's so hot I could walk on three legs every time I see her. Now you're talkin'. I'll break your back and chop off your legs if you call her. That's my boy!

His face was terrifying in its stillness, with only his eyes alive, glittering with rage. She could feel the force of his anger in the coiled strength of his body, hear it in the almost inaudible softness of his tone. He wasn't a man who lost control in his anger; he gained it to an even greater degree.

He was a man who evidently felt very little; she was a woman who felt, perhaps, too much.

She whimpered softly into his mouth. We can't, she cried, desperation and desire tearing her apart. The hell we can't, he rasped, taking her hand and moving it down his body to where his flesh strained at the fabric of his pants. Her fingers jerked at the contact: then a spasm of pain crossed her pale face, and her hand lingered involuntarily, exploring the dimensions of his arousal. He caught his breath. Jay, baby, don't' stop me now!

Sudden, hell. I've been hard for two months.

Her eyes were raw, burning with the hell inside her.

Lady, what you do to me is almost criminal," he groaned in a shaky voice. An odd tightening in her breasts made her close her eyes. "I've got to go," she said weakly, but for the life of her she couldn't make herself move. "No, don't go," he pleaded. "Let me touch you… my God, I've got to touch you!

Pure hell was living in her eyes.

She didn't want to handle him. She didn't want anything to do with him - this man with his cold, intense eyes and clipped speech, this stranger, this Yankee. He made her feel like a rabbit facing a cobra: terrified, but fascinated at the same time. He tried to hide his ruthlessness behind smooth, cosmopolitan manners, but Evie had no doubts about the real nature of the man. He wanted her. He intended to have her. And he wouldn't care if he destroyed her in the taking.

He caught her cheeks in his hands and kissed her roughly, for they were both savages in those moments, and his tongue swept her mouth and her lips before he moaned, "My beautiful, blue-eyed tigress—" Emma

A man of imagination has an advantage over other people, in that an actual experience is almost always less intense than his expectations of it.

All I know in love is how to shock people. To briefly worship, and then to destroy and be destroyed.

Not the cute kind of cuckoo, or the lights-on-but-nobody's-home loony. She's really, genuinely, sold my-soul-to-the-devil crazy. She don't care about me or anyone else in the place. I mean, sure, she killed Frankie. And maybe she wanted to save the rest of us or whatever. But mostly, she just plain wanted to kill him. I mean, she stabbed him like a zillion times. Then licked his blood. I don't remember Wonder woman ever doing that at the end of an episode.

Sometimes I think rage is like a furnace, and I've been angry for so many years now, I'm perpetually heated from the inside out.

I hate the raw edge to my voice, but I can't stop it. These cases shouldn't be personal to me. But they are. That's the thing I can't help, and Paul couldn't understand.