Quotes About Intensity

American football was thick in the air; war on the gridiron they called it. Well, at least those who had never been in the real thing called it that.

Être aimé d'elle, ou mourir.

But in the glance at once tender and wild, swift and deep, which that woman's black eyes had shot at him by stealth, there was such a world of buried sorrows and promised joys!

Infuse with passion, then, if you will, this friendship, and let the voice of love disturb its calm.

Passions are as mean as they are cruel.

Hunger is not so violent as love; but the caprices of the soul are more numerous, more bewitching, more exquisite in their intensity than the caprices of gastronomy; but all that the poets and the experiences of our own life have revealed to us on the subject of love, arms us celibates with a terrible power: we are the lion of the Gospel seeking whom we may devour.

Yesterday, at the Italian Opera, I could feel some one was looking at me; my eyes were drawn, as by a magnet, to two wells of fire, gleaming like carbuncles in a dim corner of the orchestra. Henarez never moved his eyes from me. The wretch had discovered the one spot from which he could see me—and there he was. I don't know what he may be as a politician, but for love he has a genius.

If love is a child, passion is a man.

Diceva: quando ami qualcuno soffri, ti struggi, è un sentimento che non puoi in alcun modo soffocare...

My fury was lofty, pure, cool.

In tutte le coppie che si amano c'è sempre nella donna una caratteristica unica come la sua, su cui per un attimo lo sguardo dell'uomo si fissa con intensità. Una spirale infinita dove uno si rispecchia nell'altro.

The intensity of a person unafraid of death, at the end of his rope.

Everything that had happened was shockingly beautiful, enough to make you crazy.

I saw the sky and sea and sand and the flickering flames of the bonfire through my tears. All at once, it rushed into my head with tremendous speed, and made me feel dizzy. It was beautiful. Everything that happened was shockingly beautiful, enough to make you crazy.

Today we're seeing that climate change is about more than a few unseasonably mild winters or hot summers. It's about the chain of natural catastrophes and devastating weather patterns that global warming is beginning to set off around the world.. the frequency and intensity of which are breaking records thousands of years old.

fathom clearly in the background din, but its warmth speared through his loins, made him grit his teeth. Hiro pulled her more securely to his side. "It must be a mere manifestation of your

we defined for ourselves the meaning of life (to live intensely);

She wanted him. Not in the sweet way of poetry, though there was that music in the symmetry of his body, in the careful meshing of bone and sinew and flesh that made him. Her want was raw. Physical. She felt it in the palms of her hands and the flesh of her lips and the heaviness of her breasts. In her life, she'd been hungry, and thirsty. She'd needed sleep. She had never, in her life, needed to touch a man.

He kissed her violently, wanting to somehow inhale her into himself, unable to stop the fury of his reaction, the trembling rocking hunger for her—so vast and all-encompassing, he couldn't stand it. Mattie, flowing all around him, met his savagery. He clasped her hips hard against him, found himself biting her neck, laving her breasts with his tongue. He felt such unblunted, furious desire he thought he might die of it.

His mouth was wet and hot and intensely demanding, so sharp and piercing with need that it broke through Mattie's defenses the way nothing else could have. A burst of excruciating hunger made her almost frantic with wanting him. She shifted in his arms and met his kiss wide open, giving as furiously as she took. "Oh, Mattie," he said against her mouth. "I've never wanted a woman in my life like I want you. You're driving me crazy.

Patanjali's method for achieving insight is far from the mystical ecstasy of a poet like St. John of the Cross or the ritual ecstasy of a shaman in a trance. It is instead a contemplative intensity that unbinds the constraints of everyday experience.

In my opinion, moderation is a vastly overrated virtue, particularly when applied to work

Everything took on the color of blood.

Monocled and effete in appearance, cold and distant in manner, he concentrated with such single-mindedness on his profession that when an aide, at the end of an all-night staff ride in East Prussia, pointed out to him the beauty of the river Pregel sparkling in the rising sun, the General gave a brief, hard look and replied, "An unimportant obstacle.