Quotes About Passion

During the eighteen months that followed Halley's visit, Isaac worked day and night on the book. He didn't mind the sacrifice. A living, growing thing took shape before his eyes. Never mind that he ate irregularly. Never mind if he kept at it eighteen hours a day. The book would be worth all the effort.

I was obsessed with romance. When I was in high school, I saw 'Doctor Zhivago' every day from the day it opened until the day it left the theater.

The way you define yourself as a writer is that you write every time you have a free minute. If you didn't behave that way you would never do anything.

You've got to get obsessed and stay obsessed.

From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my dreams

You are my winter suddenness—a glass of red wine spilt across a white tablecloth

burnt by the sun of your mouth, I'm unable to speak or paint you with words

you are the mysterious fire at my finger tips

put out the candles with your fire—I'm on fire

I play a piano of words—its icy tinkle echoes through your halls

I am a bed of sparks you breathe upon and kindle

Emotions are fevers of the mind.

I need you to fly like a Wookiee whose hair is on fire – and who thinks everybody lit the match.

It is too late. I love him. I know it may bring me grief, and I can't do a thing about it. Mr. Congreve was right about love being a frailty of the mind.

He thought of nothing but the ardent, open warmth of this singular and passionate young woman who inspired him to love with all of his body and mind.

Hunting, fishing, drawing, and music occupied my every moment. Cares I knew not, and cared naught about them.

To have been torn from the study would have been as death my time was entirely occupied with art.

Challenge Question What role do you let loving play in your making a living?

No se puede escribir una novela o componer una canción, no se puede acordar una adquisición o ampliar una oferta sin una completa dedicación a la tarea que se tiene entre manos.

El homicidio en primer grado no prescribe. La venganza tampoco. —Lo miró—. Supongo que parezco obsesiva, pero lo llevo en la sangre.

viva la República de la Concha!»

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering--these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love--these are what we stay alive for.

Beyond a mortal man impassion'd farAt these voluptuous accents, he arose,Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing starSeen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;Into her dream he melted, as the rose,Blendeth its odour with the violet,—Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blowsLike Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleetAgainst the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.

O for ten years, that I may overwhelmMyself in poesy; so I may do the deedThat my own soul has to itself decreed.