Quotes About Intensity

It was with an agitated burning heart and brain that I hurried homewards, regardless of that scorching noon-day sun - forgetful of everything but her I had just left.

wine stores should organize their bottles not by origin and varietal but by alcohol content and intensity of flavor

Sam said to me the other day, I love you like 20 tyrannosauruses on 20 mountaintops, and this is the exact same way in which I love him.

I'll live as well, as deeply, as madly as I can--until I die.

There are moments when I am writing when I think that if other people knew how I felt right now, they'd burn me at the stake for feeling so good, so full, so much intense pleasure.

How alive am I willing to be?

This is parenting on steroids.

She had always disliked him, and by the end of this morning she hated him with a vehemence that depressed and frightened her.

I love you still, that's the torment of it. Lestat I never loved. But you! The measure of my hatred is that love. They are the same! Do you know now how much I hate you!

I think to feel this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.

Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly. Only if you do that can you hope to make the reader feel every particle of what you, the writer, have known and feel compelled to share.---Forward to Kafka's Short stories

And then there came the pounding of another drum, as if another giant were coming yards behind him, and each giant, intent on his own drum, gave no notice to the rhythm of the other. The sound grew louder and louder until it seemed to fill not just my hearing but all my senses, to be throbbing in my lips and fingers, in the flesh of my temples, in my veins.

I kept glancing at him and away from him, as if his green eyes were hurting me. In modern parlance he was a laser beam. Deadly and delicate he seemed. His victims had always loved him. And I had always loved him, hadn't I, no matter what happened, and how strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it, and it took only these few moments in time to renew its momentum, its heat? -Lestat

I'd drink your blood if I could and hook you into every memory inside me, every heartbreak, frame of reference, temporary triumph, petty defeat, mystic moment of surrender.

You're my insatiable blood thief and soul smasher.

You are the pure embodiment of madness.

The blood ran in tiny rivulets down his white face, as if from Christ's Crown of Thorns, his long blond hair flying out as he turned full circle, his hand ripping at his shirt, tearing it open down his chest, the black tie loose and falling. His pale crystalline blue eyes were glazed and shot with blood as he screamed the unimportant lyrics.

from the classically executed lifelike bouquets, tempting you to reach for the petals that fell on a three-dimensional tablecloth, to a new and disturbing style in which the colors seemed to blaze with such intensity they destroyed the old lines, the old solidity, to make a vision like those states which I'm nearest my delirium and flowers grow before my eyes and crackle like the flames of lamps.

and what struck my heart almost as much as the song itself was the way that he seemed with his whole body to lean into the music, to press his soul like an ear to the instrument.

How could I not love it, the mere idea of it? How could it not be worth the greatest danger, the greatest and most ghastly defeat? Even at the moment of destruction, I would be alive as I have never been.

I understand the very definition of hate when I think of you.

When you love coffee you abandon everything to that love.

Never in all this time since you first came to me, never once have I ever looked into your eyes or heard your voice, or even thought of you, without feeling pain. It's the pain connected to loving you ,to realizing my limits, and what I'll never have. Do you remmeber feeling my heartbeat? You'll never feel such a rhythm as you will with me. I'm your Savage Garden, and yet so tame and soft and safe!

Mis recuerdos son demasiado claros, demasiado agudos; las cosas debieran gastarse en los bordes y lo irresoluto debería suavizarse. De ese modo, hay escenas tan cerca de mi corazón como fotos en un marco; sin embargo, son retratos monstruosos que ningún artista ni ninguna cámara jamás lograrán.