Quotes About Passion

I love you,' Marius whispered suddenly, passionately as a mortal man might. 'I have always loved you. I wish that I could believe in anything other than love at this moment; but I can't.

He wanted to say this was not erotic. But it was erotic, insofar as anything and everything is.

How could I not love it, the mere idea of it? How could it not be worth the greatest danger, the greatest and most ghastly defeat? Even at the moment of destruction, I would be alive as I have never been.

I mean it's a concept born out of moral idiocy, this idea of love!

I've loved you more than any being in all the world whom I've ever loved.

I understand the very definition of hate when I think of you.

You gave me your immortal kiss.

Well, now I know, whether I believe in hell or not, that vampires can love each other, that in being dedicated to evil, one does not cease to love.

When you love coffee you abandon everything to that love.

I'm too much the slave of my own obsessions and fascination.

Davis was a beautiful black vampire, and Killer had loved him.

And I'll know people like you,' I went on, 'people who have thoughts in their heads and quick tongues with which to voice them, and we'll sit in cafes and we'll drink together and we'll clash with each other violently in words, and we'll talk for the rest of our lives in devine excitement.

Never in all this time since you first came to me, never once have I ever looked into your eyes or heard your voice, or even thought of you, without feeling pain. It's the pain connected to loving you ,to realizing my limits, and what I'll never have. Do you remmeber feeling my heartbeat? You'll never feel such a rhythm as you will with me. I'm your Savage Garden, and yet so tame and soft and safe!

Old truths and ancient magic, revolution and invention, all conspire to distract us from the passion that in one way or another defeats us all.

Yes, you are right, those of us who are known to everyone today are romantics. We are. We are poets. But we are individuals, with an immense faith in the individual and a love of the individual.

Write the book you want to read

And we are this, this only, this ecstasy that flesh can give to flesh.

I wrestled as well with my passion for life, my lust for pleasure, for music, and beauty, and comfort and sensuality, and the inexplicable joys of art—and the baffling majesty of loving another so much that all the world, it seemed, depended on that love.

Old truths and ancient magic, revolution and invention, all conspire to distract us from the passion that in one way or another defeats us all. And weary finally of this complexity, we dream of that long-ago time when we sat upon our mother's knee and each kiss was the perfect consummation of desire. What can we do but reach for the embrace that must now contain both heaven and hell: our doom again and again and again.

If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write.

Beethoven's Ninth. I played the torture part. I played the Second Movement.

each kiss was the perfect consummation of desire. What can we do but reach for the embrace that must now contain both heaven and hell: our doom again and again and again.

Dear God, this is love. This is desire. And all my past amours have been but the shadow of this.

Get thee behind me, tragedy. Kneeling over her, he lifted her and impaled her gently on his sex.