Quotes About Passion

Down the rusty bars of ladders to the undergrounds of the night propitious to the first man and woman at the beginning of the world. where there were no words by which to possess each other, no music for serenades, no presents to court with, no tournaments to impress and force a yielding, no secondary instruments, no adornments, necklaces, crowns to subdue, but only one ritual, a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous, impaling of a woman on a man´s sensual mast

I am made only for passion; it is the temperature of love that I cannot endure. I am afraid, and I think it is death- everything but passion seems like death to me. Only in fever do I feel life.

I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous.

I thought of you again while reading The Brothers Karamazov (The Sensualists). Everything I read now has a different meaning, a terrible meaning; the way I read Dostoevsky anyway is not reading, it is actual passionate experience, as when I read you.

Se o que Proust diz é verdade, que a felicidade é a ausência do delírio, então eu nunca conhecerei a felicidade. Pois que estou possuída por uma febre de conhecimento, experiência, criação.

The important thing is to set the passion free. The drama is everything, the cause of the drama nothing.

Eu iubesc, iubesc, iubesc.

I care about everything. Emotionalism and sensibility are my quicksands.

She has to make the atmosphere boil.

He placed his mouth on her throat, kissing the words she could not utter. He seemed to divine where she wanted a kiss to fall next, what part of her body demanded to be warmed.

Although I was so big, and so rough in many ways, loved hunting, fighting, horseback riding, I loved the piano above everything else...The mountain man's obsession is to get a glimpse of the sea.

Sometimes she answered, 'My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.' Other times she answered, 'I am moist between the legs.

The potion drunk by lovers is prepared by no one but themselves. The potion is the sum of one's whole existence. Every word spoken in the past accumulated forms and colors in the self. What flows through the veins besides blood is the distillation of every act committed, the sediment of all the visions, wishes, dreams, and experiences. All the past emotions converge to tint the skin and flavor the lips, to regulate the pulse and produce crystals in the eyes.

Anaïs, you've started the sap flowing. I am not responsible for what I say or do any more.

Yes, Anaïs, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can't. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit—ah

Her beauty drowned me. As I sat in front of her I felt that I would do anything mad for her, anything she asked of me. Henry faded. She was color, brilliance, strangeness.

I hope you never marry a man you don't love sexually. That is what I have done. I love everything about him, the way he behaves, his face, his body, the way he works, treats me, his thoughts, his way of smiling, talking, everything except the sexual man in him. I thought I did, before we married.

Sabina placed The Firebird on the phonograph. The delicate footsteps of the Firebird were heard at first through infinite distance, each step rousing the phosphorescent sparks from the earth, each note a golden bugle to marshal delight. A jungle of dragon tails thrashing in erotic derisions, a brazier of flesh-smoking prayers, the multiple debris of the stained glass fountains of desire.

She cannot be considered as a whole. She is composed of fragments. Only passion gives her a moment of wholeness.

She fell in love with an extinct volcano.

When Henry telephones, I feel his voice in my veins. I want him to talk into me. I want him to talk into me. I eat Henry, I breathe Henry, Henry is in the sun. My cape is his arm around my waist.

When Henry telephones, I feel his voice in my veins. I want him to talk into me. I eat Henry, I breathe Henry, Henry is the sun. My cape is his arm around my waist.

He deseado poseerla como si un hombre fuera, pero he querido también que me amara con los ojos, con las manos, con los sentidos que sólo poseen las mujeres. Es una penetración suave y sutil.

La amo por lo que se ha atrevido a ser, por su dureza, su crueldad, su egoísmo, su perversidad, su demoníaca fuerza destructora. Me aplastaría sin la menor vacilación. Se trata de una personalidad llevada al límite. Adoro el valor con que hiere y estoy dispuesta a sacrificarme a él. Sumará mi ser al suyo. Será June más todo lo que yo contengo.