Quotes About Intensity

It [love] was a passion neither of the mind nor of the heart, it was a force that comprehended them both, as if they were but the matter of love, its specific substance.

There is nothing more terrible, she has decided, than the ferocity with which humans can love.

Her heart is beating so fast she doesn't need the Peloton, but she powers out a forty-five-minute HIIT and Hills ride with Tunde anyway.

Volumes upon volumes on exploration, war, violence, the life-threatening transformative journeys of man. But you can't talk about this. The fucking, the sadness, the dark, the blood, the light. They will burn you at the fucking stake for this shit.

With all my might, I heave the axe into the ice, just inches from Kristoff's head. Oops.

The sex was so passionate it bordered on violence. It was not vanilla. It was passion as suffering

Zounds! What a howl from Griffiths and his brother!

time she was consumed with

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless.

Life, struck sharp on death,Makes awful lightning.

Behold and see What a great heap of grief lay hid in me, And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn Through the ashen greyness.

When men of intense reality, as all great poets must be, give their hearts to be trodden on & tied up with ribbons in turn, by men of masks, there will be torture if here is not desecration.

You burned her because your gifts come wreathed in flames, and your heart is an ember, and your breath is a star, and because you loved her and you wanted to give her everything you are

His own blood could not chill, but it might as well have, from the prickling sensation that crept along his arms.

Morgan met Kit's gaze calmly, her eyes dark and mysterious as emeralds in the weird, cold light.

Briefly, she thought of murder. Her hands itched for the wash of blood. But this was the blood she wanted.

Will glanced over his shoulder, and saw Kit's eyes drop a second too late to hide the intensity of his regard. Relief and pity warred in him, and a cold white flame he knew for bitter, possessive love.

Cathoair reached out with both hands, his last measure of strength, and yanked Mingan's body against his own, pressed his mouth down, broke both their lips between their teeth so the bright taste of blood flavored the kiss.

Right now, with the taste of Muire's life hot on his lips, filling him with a restless passion, the temptation is unbearable.

Red ran through my fingers, dripping to the white, white stone.

Passion filled him, terrible and sweet, a craving as fierce as ever. It was not something one could turn on a courtesan-this wantom cupidity-and expect him to live. But another wampyr was not prey, was not a courtesan. Another wampyr was an equal and a rival, though David might be less than a quarter Sebastien's age, and quite capable of surviving his unalloyed strength.

She raised a hand imperiously, fingers balled loosly into a fist, and her eyes were not on Will's but on the raven's black ones.

I clamped and stitched and cauterized, somehow finding myself in a zone of total focus where the noises of half a hundred different species trying to make themselves urgently understood seemed distant, unreal.

Murchaud's hands lightened on his hips; Murchaud's teeth closed on the nape of his neck like a stallion conquering a mare. He cried out, but Morgan's mouth muffled the sound.