Quotes About Intensity

He felt her moving, tasted her sweetness like venomed blood.

It would heal quite perfectly. And the sensation of the thick salvaged blood beating from his wounds into David's mouth as David knelt over him, his blond locks stuck willy-nilly between the clenching knuckles of Sebastien's hand-that was a passion worth anything.

I hauled my heart out of my pants with both hands and followed it through the breachd hull, and into the night.

She smiled, showing flesh-tearing teeth, and undressed him quite meticulously with her eyes.

He leans over Cathoair, his felted woolen cloak falling forward to enfold them both. Bending down, he breathes across the other's face, hand still heavy on the place where Cathoair's neck runs into his shoulder. Cathoair trembles, but raises his face to the wolf's, eyes coldly defiant and full of savage light. The wolf sees also the way Cathoair's lips half-part at the taste of Mingan's breath, and the fury that follows weakness.

The hand trembled like any human's, with spent passion and frustration.

Great passion led so easily to great tragedy.

she'd never experienced for Chandler the kind of feeling a woman should have for a man she thought about marrying, that breathless kind of wanting, that aching sort of yearning, that endless, ferocious passion, that insistent, frenzied, needy demand, that hot, sweaty, wanton arousal that made a woman just want to rip off her clothes and wrap her naked body around a man and feed herself to him whole, that... that…

One has to commit a painting,' said Degas, 'the way one commits a crime.

First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context. This isolation, young love and hero worship accomplish without remorse; they hardly know tenderness.

Everything ungirt, artless, ardent, urgent about Louie was to the fore: all over herself she gave the impression of twisted stockings.

Let me tell you about love. Love is a kind of madness and you would follow it anywhere, you don't care.

Petronella's expression was hard with defiance. "I love him." Her voice was fierce. "You don't know anything about love." "Oh, but I do," Alienor replied bitterly. "Because I love you, and you have just broken my heart.

The incredible blue of his eyes and the intensity with which zeroed in on me made my heart jolt, made me feel as if I were on an elevator that had suddenly dropped beneath me. All I could do was stare at him, surprised. Of course the character of Helena would have acted the same way. I wasn't acting but I looked like I was

The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it.

He leaned toward her father. " 'Tis true, I am a murderer, a liar, and a thief. 'Tis equally true that I will use whatever monstrous talents I possess to keep your daughter at my side. You can take Avalene to a convent at the ends of the earth and I will find her and steal her away again. I will lie to God, himself, to free her. I will protect her with my life, and I will murder anyone who threatens her.

Only at the very center of pain or joy was one wholly wretched, wholly joyful. There was only one hour of the night in which sunset or dawn was not present to the mind in memory or hope, only one hour of the day when the sun seemed neither rising nor declining, and the intensity of those hours dulled and blinded.

How attraction works, making one's body almost painfully alive and one's thoughts concentrated, also painfully. And the truth of these powerful attractions - they have their own morality and nothing else matters.

I turn up the music, but it never seems to be loud enough.

A woman of intense feeling, head thrown back, hair wild, lips open upon a cry of unbelievable pleasure. The enchanted. A warrior both disciplined and passionate, his whole being focused in the moment. The enchanter. Now he is bending down to her, drinking her cries .....

He pressed his forearms flat against the wall, caging me with his body. Electric heat sparked in the space between us. He pulled back. His irises swirled with silver flecks, twisting into a metallic pool. His Wolf stared down at me. "I don't want anyone touching you, except me.

It has nothing to do with you—" "It has everything to do with me that you want to get yourself fucking killed." He snarled, the words tight and full of iron. "Losing you is not an option.

I think love is huge, overwhelming. I think it's terrible and beautiful.

He's looking at me as if the whole world waits for my next breath, with an intensity that makes my heart pound and my palms sweat and then he smiles, a sweet curve of his mouth, and my breath catches, but then I freeze because there is something about it, something beyond it that I know, that makes my mind go blank with fear and pain.