Quotes About Intensity

Not guessing the cause, there was nothing to remind him that experience is as to intensity, and not as to duration.

You know what that feeling is, continued Boldwood, deliberately. A thing strong as death. No dismissal by a hasty letter affects that.

Esta mujer significa mucho más para mí, incluso muerta, de lo que tú hayas significado, signifiques o puedas significar.

Almost every place has a moment of the day, an angle and intensity of light, in which it looks its best. When you're stuck someplace, you learn that time and you look forward to it.

she shot him in the face as he slid down the door facing and she shot him in the face as he sat on the floor and she ran to him and shot him twice in the face as he sprawled against the wall, scalp down to his chin and his hair on fire.

Qué me dice, Starling? —Digo que maldita sea, señor Crawford. ¿Qué dice usted?

He worked, not like a man who works that he may live; but as one who is bent on doing nothing but work; having no regard for himself as a human being but only as a creator; moving about grey and unobtrusive among his fellows like an actor without his make-up, who counts for nothing as soon as he stops representing something else.

On a personal level, too, art is life intensified: it delights more deeply, consumes more rapidly; it engraves the traces of imaginary and intellectual adventure on the countenance of its servant and in the long run, for all the monastic calm of his external existence, leads to self-indulgence, overrefinement, lethargy, and a restless curiosity that a lifetime of wild passions and pleasures could scarcely engender.

Entangled and besotted as he was, he no longer wished for anything else than to pursue the beloved object that inflamed him, to dream about him when he was absent and to speak amorous phrases, after the manner of lovers, to his mere shadow.

Zo wist en wilde de verwarde niets anders meer dan de aanstichter van het vuur dat in hem brandde zonder ophouden te achtervolgen, over hem te dromen wanneer hij er niet was en naar de wijze van de verliefden louter tegen zijn schaduwbeeld tedere woorden te fluisteren. Eenzaamheid, de vreemde omgeving en het geluk van een late en diepe roes moedigden hem aan en haalden hem ertoe over om van zichzelf ook het meest bevreemdende zonder schaamte of blozen te accepteren, (...)

On a personal level, too, art is life intensified: it delights more rapidly; it engraves the traces of imaginary and intellectual adventure on the countenance of its servant and in the long run, for all the monastic calm of his external existence, leads to self-indulgence, over refinement, lethargy, and a restless curiosity that a lifetime of wild passions and pleasures could scarcely engender.

Era voglia di viaggiare, nient'altro; ma sopraggiunta davvero come un accesso e cresciuta fino alla passione, addirittura all'inganno dei sensi.

Next worst thing to unrequited Love, isn't it? Insufficient hate.

There had hung the sense of buffering, insulation, she had noticed the absence of an intensity, as if watching a movie, just perceptibly out of focus, that the projectionist refused to fix. And had also gently conned herself into the curious, Rapunzel-like role of a pensive girl somehow, magically, prisoner among the pines and salt fogs of Kinneret, looking for somebody to say hey, let down your hair.

Beneath the rubato of the day abided a stern pulse beating on, ineluctable, unforgiving, whereby whatever was evaded or put off now had to be made up for later, and at a higher level of intensity.

I long to do wild, passionate things.

Even if I were half dead, drugged to the gills, deaf, dumb, and blind, I would know you were here. How can you expect me to rest when you arouse such madness in me?

Among a certain type of creative men, there was a history of strong, if difficult friendships. From Wordsworth and Coleridge to John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd, these were creative friendships with bonds deeper, stronger than the shared creativity.

They 'possess each other like demon lovers, alternately clinging together as one and then separating in furious mutual rejection. They encircle one another in a bond of steel …

I thought at times that poetry might be an elegant way of screaming.

I like high impact movies.

In some of us there's a fire that burns too brightly. It makes us feel things differently, painfully—even great joy. To feed that fire too often, to make the flames too strong is to destroy yourself. Ye burn and burn and burn. 'Tis too painful to live that kind of life. Yet 'tis beautiful, too. Too beautiful for words or thought, too beautiful to look upon. Ye can climb to the heavens on the colors of those flames, but ye can also fall into darkness without end.

Eurydice sits alone on a red bed. She has flaming red hair, so flaming that you can't see anything else of her, much less anything else around her. She takes up too much space. Also she's mad. Which has nothing to do with anything. She lives in her own world because she makes the whole world hers.

A gunshot is the loudest sound in the universe. Especially if the bullet is coming at you.