Quotes About Intensity

For the dead can live only with the exact intensity and quality of the life imparted to them by the living.

Fu qualcosa di formidabile e di subitaneo, come l'improvviso rompersi di un vaso colmo d'ira.

And in this case his great practice in it was assisted by hate, which, like love, has an eloquence of its own.

The next gust seemed to blow all this away. The air was full of flying water. There was a fierce purpose in the gale, a furious earnestness in the screech of the wind, in the brutal tumult of earth and sky, that seemed directed at him, and made him hold his breath in awe. He stood still. It seemed to him he was whirled around.

She listens to him with great intensity because she is paying no attention to him at all.

Focused, directed thoughts reach the subjective levels; they must be of a certain degree of intensity. Intensity is acquired by concentration.

The important point is to become intensely interested in the mental picture or imaginary act, making it real and natural.

I am not made of steel. Rage. I...am made... of RAGE!!!!

Because obsession is the thing in us that makes us not everybody else.

I could EAT YOUR HEART & asshole you'd never know it.

Love commingled with hate is more powerful than love. Or hate.

Later, her first intense, serious love affair, yes then she'd lost something more tangible, if undefinable: her heart? her independence? her control of, definition of, self? That first true loss, the furious bafflement of it. And never again quite so assured, confident.

There's a sort of melancholy romance to the experience of being lonesome. I think of reading as a kind of romantic alone activity that you're doing. The image would include being curled up somewhere on a rainy day and you're reading very intensely involved in a world that no one can see because it's inside your head.

Como isso acontece, você gosta tanto de alguém — ama alguém, talvez — e depois, não muito tempo depois, o que sente é ódio? Um ódio horrível e funesto? Um ódio de vontade de matar? Por quê?

Where there is passion there is argument.

Asusta, corta la respiración, cada vez con más fuerza. El corazón se acelera para mantener el paso. El cerebro echa a correr, pero sin ir a ningún sitio. No es posible pensar de manera coherente. Los pensamientos se derraman como las cuentas de una sarta rota...

The tone we want to avoid is melodrama.

She felt everything too deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.

She was in love with love.

She felt everything so deeply, it was like the world was too much for her.

He grabbed something off the floor and held it in front of his hips as he stood up. She drank in the sight of him: The tattooed slave bands around his wrists and neck, the plug in his left earlobe, his black eyes, his skull-trimmed hair. His body was as starkly lean as she remembered, all striated muscles and hard cut veins. And he threw off raw power like a scent.

It'd be a spankiing you'd never forget, I promise you. Vishous, Lover At Last

Never met Ahhh, don't know him, don't care how big he is-if he's standing in our way? I'ma murder the son of a bitch ~ Trez 'The Shadows' page 205

Esa noche volvieron a sucederse los sueños. ¿Por qué ese recordar intenso de tantas cosas? ¿Por qué no simplemente la muerte y no esa música tierna del pasado?