Quotes About Intensity

Las dos veces anteriores, sólo su sabor había causado que los instintos de Noelle se propulsaran sobre una cornisa que no podía ver hasta ser muy tarde. Él era una droga para ella, capaz de destruir cualquier barrera, rápidamente adictivo, calentándola inexorablemente, haciéndola girar más y más hasta el fondo de lo que podría llegar a ser una profunda y oscura caverna de soledad, o un brillante y devorante lecho de pasión.

I approached everything, my job, my family, my romances, with intensity.

Kai's fingers bit into her shoulder hard enough to make her refocus. 'If you pass out on me now, I'm going to kill you,' he said conversationally.

If New York was a piece of music, then this was the ominous pause leading up to an intense climax.

She ignores me. Clearly there's no stopping her until she's read every last word.

If the regular length of a shot is increased, one becomes bored, but if you keep on making it longer, a new quality emerges, a special intensity of attention.' At first there can be a friction between our expectations of time and Tarkovsky-time and this friction is increasing in the twenty-first century as we move further and further away from Tarkovsky-time towards moron-time in which nothing can last—and no one can concentrate on anything—for longer than about two seconds.

There was an aggressiveness I had never seen in him before; by the end of the session, he was almost psychotic.

I was totally psyched. I heard if you sit in the front row at a Knicks game, the players will, like, actually sweat on you. That would be SO sweet. Ed. Note: NO IT WOULDN'T (eeeew)

Insisting that his writing did not offer a philosophy of life, Hardy claims that each poem was an 'impression', intensely subjective and evanescent.

Zu viel! Zu viel! Mein ganzes Sein ist in dem einen Augenblick. Jetzt stirb. Mehr ist unmöglich.

live with power and energy that undeniably transcends their natural capacities and with an intensity of commitment that far exceeds anything they have previously demonstrated in their lives

The sign of the poet, then, is that by passion he enters into life more than other men. That is the gift-the power to live....[Poets] have been singularly creatures of passion. They lived before they sang. Emotion is the condition of their existence; passion is the element of their being; and, moreover, the intensifying power of such a state of passion is also must be remembered, for emotion of itself naturally heightens all the faculties, and genius burns the brighter in its own flames.

Grant me some wild expressions, Heavens, or I shall burst.

William's eyes glowed like two amber coals. She met his gaze and flinched. No emotion reflected in the amber, only intelligence, cruel in a way the eyes of a hunting Mire cat were cruel. She saw no worry, no softness, no thoughts at all, only waiting. He seemed barely human now, not a man but some feral thing, knitted of darkness and biding his time for an opportunity to pounce.

When I first saw you, it was like being thrown from a shuttle before it touched the ground. I fell and when I landed, I felt it in every cell of my body. You disturbed me. You took away my inner peace…

It was one thing to be attracted to bad boys, something I usually didn't suffer from. It was another to be attracted to bad men. Mad Rogan was a really bad, bad man. If he wanted something, he bought it, or persuaded you to give it to him, or just simply took it. I had to make sure he didn't want me. Because if he decided he did, it would be on his terms, and I wouldn't like it. No, I would like it, which was even worse.

He focused on me completely, the same way he did when he asked me a question and waited for an answer. It was almost impossible to look away. If he ever fell in love—which probably wasn't possible, given that he was likely a psychopath—his would be the kind of devotion people fantasized about.

I'm in love with someone else." "But why, Rogan? What is it about her? Is it because she's violent like you?" "I was asleep," he said. "And she woke me up.

To the left Derek raised his bloody muzzle from the ruined back of the fifth reeve. Don't bite! Dumbass. Perfect wolf for you—isn't happy until he's got poisonous shit smeared all over his teeth.

This could be made much simpler if we just locked Caldenia up until it's over," Sean said. "Sometimes you say things that make me wonder about you." "No need to wonder. I'm a simple man. I love you and I will protect you. And the inn. Even if I have to murder Caldenia and everyone else to do it." I stood on my toes and kissed him. "What if we don't murder anybody?" The corners of his mouth curved. "No promises.

Ooo." Hugh sucked the air in, narrowing his eyes. "Mean. I like mean.

When I went off the rails, I didn't do it halfway. No, I flipped a few times, caught a lot of air, and then exploded in a fiery crash.

His eyes were empty. There was no sadness, no anger, just the watchful emptiness of a predator.

You know what? No: if he ever fell in love, it wouldn't be great romantic devotion. It would be an exercise in frustration and lust, and at the end of it his significant other would strangle him.