Quotes About Intensity

Personally, I believe very much in values of savagery; I mean: instinct, passion, mood, violence, madness.

Certain acts dazzle us and light up blurred surfaces, if our eyes are sharp enough to see them in a flash, for the beauty of a living thing can be grasped only fleetingly. To pursue it during its changes leads us inevitably to the moment when it ceases, for it cannot last a lifetime. And to analyze it, that is, to pursue it in time with the sight and the imagination, is to view it in its decline, for following the marvelous moment in which it reveals itself, it diminishes in intensity.

Hell has degrees, so does love

Ah those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!

She was pregnant. She was pregnant. That complete fuck.

It is the size of the characters' desires that helps to make a sad story a tragedy.

He knows a sweep of gratitude, soft as another voice, and so wide and deep he believes he might drown in it.

My aesthetic is that of the sniper on the roof.

She loved him, more than she could ever find words for, but this love he felt for her was not quite the same. It wasn't so much stronger, as more demanding, more insistent. As though he feared he would lose that which he had finally won.

I loved him too much not to hate him at all!

I have loved him too much not to hate

The flames of Aphrodite maddened me; I loathed myself, and yearned outrageously like a starved wolf to fall upon the sheep.

If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heavens. No more damned magic. You hate me and I hate you. We'll see who hates best. But first, first I will destroy your hatred. Now. My hate is colder, stronger, and you'll have no hate to warm yourself. You will have nothing.

Her own glowing is too rich a thing to let her feel the slimness of his diluted passion.

Ses yeux gardaient leur puissance envoûtante. Détailler un tel pouvoir, c'est le détruire.

Her fingers were burning hot. I felt as if she was branding me. For life.

Whoever it is you fall in love with for the first time, not just love but be in love with, is the one who will always make you angry, the one you can't be logical about.

He's like a small, human bellows, and she a fire that's dimmed to embers.

The noise thunders into her bones.

Film is like a battleground: There's love, hate, action, violence, death. In one word, emotions.

revealing Jane in all her blood-soaked glory,

How could you ever have loved a man so cruel?' Trusia lifted her chin at that, and regarded me intensely; her voice held a trace of indignance, and I understood that the depth of her love for my father transcended all else. 'You speak as though I had a choice,' she said.

He talked about her in a way that only the obsessed do. It was always a pressured monologue, and it was always the same. He had to relate every detail, interpreting and seeking meaning in her every utterance or action, like a fundamentalist minutely analyzing a biblical text.

The most exquisite joy is a sting to the heart, and love -- love is a crisis of the soul.