Quotes About Intensity

Three Rules To Write By Write naked. That means to write what you would never say. Write in blood. As if ink is so precious you can't waste it. Write in exile as if you are never going to get home again, and you have to call back every detail. Denis Johnson

It made me in all matters a fundamentalist. I didn't go to 'take it in.' I went to be convicted.

Skip stared at the ranks of the players. Men who raced from the benches to collide with one another in joyful bloodshed. Who let themselves be hammered and rounded into cops and warriors and lived in a world completely inaccessible to women and children.

It wasn't my life she was after, it was more. She wanted to eat my heart, and be lost in the desert with what she'd done, she wanted to fall on her knees and give birth from it, she wanted to hurt me as only a child can be hurt by its mother.

The jolt of fear had burned all the red out of my blood.

Sands vanquished a rush of fear and said emphatically, "I'm your man, sir." "Get in there. Have intercourse with snakes. Eat human flesh. Learn everything." "That's pretty broad.

He looked back at the page, got one last glimpse before the match blew itself out. Going to find you today, Andrew. If I don't owe Dolores my life, I owe her that much, at least. Going to find you. Going to kill you dead.

I once again felt an odd flush of admiration for my partner's faith in a religion I had long ago abandoned. She doesn't advertise it or announce it at every turn, and she has nothing but scorn for the patriarchal hierarchy that runs the church, but she nevertheless holds firm to a belief in the religion and ritual with a quiet intensity that can't be shaken.

He had a punch like a bag full of cue balls.

It transformed and sharpened everything she saw, smelled, felt. She could hear the ping of water moving through the pipes and smell metal in the river and hear rodents scuttle along the foundation. Her flesh felt as if it had been freshly slathered over her body this morning. She bet if she tried to guess the thread count of these sheets she'd come close, and her blood raced through her veins like a train moving across a desert at night.

I want to hold you like a kitten in my shirt, and still I want to spread your thighs and plow ye like a rotting bull. I dinna understand myself.

There comes a turning point in intense physical struggle where one abandons oneself to a profligate usage of strength and bodily resource, ignoring the costs until the struggle is over. Women find this point in childbirth; men in battle.

You're mine, damn ye, Claire Fraser! Mine, and I wilna share ye, with a man or a memory, or anything whatever, so long as both shall live.

I thought the force of my wanting must wake ye, surely. And then ye did come. . . He stopped, looking at me with eyes gone soft and dark. Christ, Claire, ye were so beautiful, there on the stair, wi' your hair down and the shadow of your body with the light behind ye…. He shook his head slowly. I did think I should die, if I didna have ye, he said softly. Just then.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! -Claire

Oh, Lord! This must be what it's like to make love in Hell, he whispered. With a burning she-devil.

You're mine, mo duinne...Mine alone, now and forever...Aye, I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach...I want to own you, to posses you, body and soul. pge 319

I always thought it would be a simple matter to lie wi' a woman, he said softly. And yet... I want to fall on my face at your feet and worship you-he dropped the towel and reached out, taking me by the shoulders-and still I want to force ye to your knees before me, and hold ye there wi' me hands tangled in your hair, and your mouth at my service...and I want both things at the same time, Sassenach.

Ye're mine, Sassenach. And I would do anything I thought I must to make that clear.

Tell him I hate him to his guts and the marrow of his bones!

Never,he whispered to me, face only inches from mine. Never, I said, and turned my head, closing my eyes to escape the intensity of his gaze. A gentle, inexorable pressure turned me back to face him, as the small, rhythmic movements went on. No, my Sassenach, he said softly. Open your eyes. Look at me. For that is your punishment, as it is mine. See what you have done to me, as I know what I have done to you. Look at me.

It starts out the same, but then, after a moment," he said, speaking softly, "suddenly it's as though I've a living flame in my arms." His touch grew firmer, outlining my lips and caressing the line of my jaw. "And I want only to throw myself into it and be consumed.

He wanted to laugh; the vision of her pounding that wee boy in a fury of berserk rage, hair flying in the wind and a look of blood in her eye, was one he would treasure.

Do you know how rare such a thing is?" he asked quietly. "That peculiar sort of mutual passion?" The one-sided kind was common enough.