Quotes About Intensity

Slit my skull open. Know what it'll be like? Like slitting open the guts of a great white shark. Stuff'll come out like you wouldn't fucking believe.

The danger with hatred is, once you start in on it, you get a hundred times more than you bargained for. Once you start, you can't stop.

But the danger with hatred is, once you start in on it, you get a hundred times more than you bargained for. Once you start, you can't stop. I don't know anything harder to control than hating. Easier to kick drinking than to master hate. And that is saying something.

Am I mistaken to think that even back then, in the vivid present, the fullness of life stirred our emotions to an extraordinary extent? Has anywhere since so engrossed you in its ocean of details? The detail, the immensity of the detail, the force of the detail, the weight of the detailthe rich endlessness of detail surrounding you in your young life like the six feet of dirt that'll be packed on your grave when you're dead

We are immoderate because grief is immoderate, all the hundreds and thousands of kinds of grief.

For a pure sense of being tumultuously alive, you can't beat the nasty side of existence.

They are crying intensely, the dependable father whose center is the source of all order, who could not overlook or sanction the smallest sign of chaos - for whom keeping chaos far at bay had been intuition's chosen path to certainty, the rigorous daily given of life - and the daughter who is chaos itself.

He has outlived dissatisfaction. This is what remains after the passing of everything, the disciplined sadness of stoicism. This is the cooling. For so long it's so hot, everything in life is so intense, and then little by little it goes away, and then comes the cooling, and then comes the ashes.

Emotions, when they're revved up, don't change, they're the same, fresh and raw. Everything passes? Nothing passes. The same emotions are here!

Nechtr looks at him, but that's almost even creepier: this Mark guy looks at you with the kind of distanced concentration you use to look at something you're eating.

In all his life he had never known such intensity of passion, such completeness of being. Nothing existed in all the world, save this woman beneath him. He had no sense of place or time, nor even identity. There was no war, no mission, no life beyond. There was no guilt, only a joy he had experienced only once before, in a delirium dream on the point of death.

Hellacious has a whole new meaning here.

You make love like a wounded panther. You are like a paintshop on fire.

It's incredible to me how blithely even intelligent people sometimes toss around terms like "transcendence" and "crucifixion." The words move us on paper. They feel noble upon the tongue. But when they cease to be sounds and begin to caress the flesh and bones, when they leave the page and get physical, there is little that even the best of us woudn't do to escape them.

Neurotic obsessed suffering is essential for greatness.

Sometimes desire is air, sometimes desire is liquid. And every now and then, when everything else is air and liquid, desire solidifies, and the body is the magnet that draws its weight.

Its a fine line between love and stalking.

I have to tell you, man, that my stalker meter is kind of registering in the red zone right now.

Too much. Too fast. Too intense. The glass soul falls to the ground and shatters into a thousand words. The invisible boy becomes visible, and all of a sudden, his emotions blast neon.

boundbydad: thrust your fierce quavering manpole at me, stud grayscale: your dastardly appendage engorges me with hellfire boundbydad: my search party is creeping into your no man's land grayscale: baste me like a thanksgiving turkey!!!

coagulate, v.: It is a dangerous thing, this thickening of affection; you want it to have weight, but not to be an immovable burden.

He treats his body like it's made of fireworks, each one timed to the beat. Is

Our kisses were seismic.

There's an electricity in his eyes. Power. Light.