Quotes About Passion

Okay, he said. He took a breath. What would you do, if you could do anything? I took a step toward him, closing the space between us. This, I said. And then I kissed him

I know what she is thinking. That she will never have those feelings. And she wants to have them. Oh, how much she wants to...I have seen it before, the way women yearn more for a child when they have fallen in love. It is part of the disease, like the ague that goes with fever. Maybe the real lover's prick goes deep enough to ignite some loning in the womb. Maybe it is the promise of a future, something left over once the passion is spent.

When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.

If loving you means getting dirty, bring on the grime.

Her legs started to tremble and together they went down to the rug. Angie lay spread before him like an impossible offering and every thought, every memory, every consideration dissolved and there was only the need to be inside her, to lose himself in the slick warmth of her, to feel alive and to feel pleasure. He stretched on top of her and her legs spread to accept him. He gripped himself and found her entrance. He slid inside her, into tight, wet heat. And then he really did lose his mind.

She watched as Michael stripped and walked toward the bed, his erection standing proud. The bed dipped as he got in the other side. She rolled toward him, and he pulled her into his arms. His skin was cool against hers, making her nipples bead. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him, offering him her heat. Offering him everything.

He was strong and warm and male and his mouth moved gently against hers, his kiss provocative and soothing at the same time. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers gripping muscle and bone. She felt the brush of his tongue against her lips, then he was inside her, hot and wet and demanding, and a part of herself she'd pushed down deep inside came roaring to life.

Finding Will, loving Will, had been a revelation. Like finding the other half of herself. Having his grounded wisdom to draw on when she needed it, knowing that no matter what, she had him to come home to, that his laughter was part of her world and that the passion and courage and joy he ignited in her were here to stay, had transformed her perception of herself.

You're hot for Quinn." For a moment Amy froze like a bunny in the car headlights. Then she made a rude noise. "Am not. Don't be ridiculous." "Bull. Shit. You want to get busy with him. You want to climb him like a cat on a curtain," Denise said with undisguised relish.

Bull. Shit. You want to get busy with him. You want to climb him like a cat on a curtain," Denise said with undisguised relish.

Orpheus never liked words. He had his music. He would get a funny look on his face and I would say what are you thinking about and he would always be thinking about music.

The internet is the nerd Israel, a place to speak and listen to spectacularly specific concerns.

Polly had a gift for baking pies, and she poured her heart and soul into every one she made.

Sentiment and brutality, never one without the other, like fossils and oil.

Sometimes I wished I could become a shoemaker too.

If love is love, it's free.

You never have to change anything you get up in the middle of the night to write.

To rip off a piece of lover's temper was a pleasure in her deepest vein of enjoyment.

No school without spectacular eccentrics and crazy hearts is worth attending.

I want! I want! I want!

The paltriness of these sexual struggles.

If life is not intoxicating, it's nothing. Here it's burn or rot.

What use was war without also love?

The earth was a grave: our life was lent to it by its elements and had to be returned: a time came when the simple elements seemed to long for release from the complicated forms of life, when every element of every cell said, Enough! The planet was our mother and our burial ground. No wonder the human spirit wished to leave. Leave this prolific belly. Leave also this great tomb. Passion for the infinite caused by the terror, by timor mortis, needed material appeasement.