Quotes About Passion

When I saw you, Sabina, I chose my body.

Tonight I am all in flames.

Behind my romanticism lies a primitive woman with primitive hungers.

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously. But I am more preoccupied with loving.

To hell, to hell with balance! I break glasses; I want to burn, even if I break myself. I want to live only for ecstasy. Nothing else affects me. Small doses, moderate loves, all the demi-teintes – all these leave me cold. I like extravagance, heat… sexuality which bursts the thermometer! I'm neurotic, perverted, destructive, fiery, dangerous - lava, inflammable, unrestrained. I feel like a jungle animal who is escaping captivity.

I love beauty but I find it easier to reject it now because I love other things more than beauty: genius, passion, nature–all of which are often manifested without beauty of form. I love ugliness because it expresses strength.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write.

I get furious at stairways, furious at doors, at walls, furious at everyday life which interferes with the continuity of ecstasy.

There are things one reads that make you aware that you have lived nothing, felt nothing, experienced nothing up to that time. How can i begin to feel - to feel? I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me.

He held his steaming hands towards her, and she said, You are the god of fire

For me it is all symphonic, and I am so aroused by living—god, Henry, in you alone I have found the same swelling of enthusiasm, the same quick rising of the blood, the fullness, the fullness .

All creators are unhappy in life. All creators are absolutists.

Very slowly, with hands, tongues, mouths, we unwrapped and untied ourselves, laying open gifts. Gave birth to each other again, as separate bodies who enjoy collision.

I will be the one woman you will never have . . . excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails.

I have an abnormal capacity for passion.

Cuando uno se hace pasar por las revueltas de cuerpo entero.

He gave one the feeling that the whole world was now shut out and only this sensual feast existed, that there would be no tomorrows, no meetings with anyone else – that there was only this room, this afternoon, this bed.

to press me hotly, and we dance, sexes soldered, hot, burning, saying: Open your legs, God, I want you like hell, I could take you right here. Whore, whore, whore at last.

Ordinary life does not interest me.

Too late for changes, too late perhaps for explanations and ideological webs, but the love goes on, the love goes on, blind to laws and warnings and even to wisdom and to fears. And whatever that love is, perhaps an illusion of a new love, I want it, I can't resist it, my whole being melts in one kiss, my knowledge melts, my fears melt, my blood dances, my legs open.

Perhaps I have loved the artist because creation is the nearest we come to divinity.

Sink your lips in my skin (a needle penetrating silk.)

The impetus to grow and live intensely is so powerful in me I cannot resist it.

Henry's daily and continuous flow of life, his sexual activity, his talks with everyone, his café life, his conversations with people in the street, which I once considered an interruption to writing, I now believe to be a quality which distinguishes him from other writers. He never writes in cold blood: he is always writing in white heat.