Quotes About Intensity

Las cosas que hacemos por amor son desagradables, dementes, llenas de sudor y remordimiento —caminó hacia Edith, quien se contuvo para no gritar. —Este amor te quema y te mutila y te retuerce de adentro hacia fuera. Es un amor monstruoso y nos transforma en monstruos.

I love my work with a frenetic and perverse love, as an ascetic loves the hair shirt which scratches his belly.

An infinity of passion can be contained in one minute, like a crowd in a small space.

Lust on this scale was rare: it seemed a crime to waste it.

I think they're being cheap with their lives, that's why. So they seem ravenous for the worst thoughts I can have.

I don't know what I'm playing at. I feel so romantic and furious all the time.

Poetry has acquired a fluffy image, which is totally at odds with its real nature. It's not pastel colours, but blood-red and black. If you don't obey it as a force in your life, it will tear you to pieces.

This is how I want you: larger and smaller stronger and weaker taller and trembling more, more out of breath that I more burning more penetrating bolder bossier more yielding more frightened narrower and more relentless than you are more than I.

These days I am in a super-acute, a hyped-up life. It never goes to sleep. And yet all the events of this hyped-up life seem to be cut from the hyperdream. All of them turn up accompanied by a voice that murmurs to my heart "it's not going to last.

So it is customary to see in a mother's ideals and intensity of ambition what is carried out by one or another of her children. According to biographers, the source of success appears to lie in a mother's doting—or in her neglectful selfishness, which forces an offspring out on its own.

Answer me this, "Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?

My love is so strong and so pure. A passion so deep inside my heart, that I just Lose Control, When I Glance At You.

Somewhere between love and hate. lies our emotions that are being unchained, and capable of anything.

Conviction and intensity are not the coin of truth, they alone can never buy it.

Yes, it was her he was looking at, and there was meaning in his look. His eyes burned into her as though they would search her through and through, read her very soul.

and with that he took the bloody old towser by the scruff of the neck and by Jesus he near throttled him.

I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

Birkaç geliÅŸigüzel laf d???nda hiç konuÅŸmam??t?k onunla, ama ad? ç?lg?n kan?ma bir çaÄŸr? gibi geliyordu.

Firea lui simÈ›itoare mai era înc? aprig r?nit? de È™fichiuirile unei vieÈ›i lipsite de elevaÈ›ie È™i demnitate.

Sexcaliber hrosspower.

The long eyelids beat and lift: a burning needleprick stings and quivers in the velvet iris.

it can reach a murderous intensity within minutes over a betrayed trust, a lie, a wrong against a family member.

A woman opened the back door. She wore a black suit and hose; her hair was black, too, pulled straight back, her skin the color of paste, her eyes dark and luminous, as though she had a fever. "I'm Emmeline.

I no longer care that my time on earth is coming to an end. What better way than in hot blood? Would you rather meet the grim reaper at Roncevaux or between bedsheets stiff with your own fluids?