Quotes About Passion

There's value in work you enjoy, or that serves a need. There's no value in work for its own sake.

You burned her because your gifts come wreathed in flames, and your heart is an ember, and your breath is a star, and because you loved her and you wanted to give her everything you are

The salt and blood of him filled her mouth, and now her flaws were tingling, itching too. She leaned in, purring, and he backed up a step.

She's my whole goddamned world.

I am but a petty godling, it's true, but I am the god of the dark depths of passion, the sea that draws and gives back life. Tell you don't crave the attention.

Tell me nothing in you chafes at the cool certainty of Faerie. That there is no human soul in you, craving touch, craving passion and emotion.

I knew she was a political radical, but when you're nineteen that's sexy.

She was not prepared for Mallory to pull away before Rien thought the kiss was half finished, quickly nipping at Rien's lower lip and then pressing a finger against it. And then it was dark eyes, brown and transparent as coffee, with green and amber flecks swimming under the surface of Mallory's breath across her mouth.

His heart filled up with something vast and terrible at the realization, a shadowy whirl of wings and storm and light, and he knew why men died for Elizabeth. He would have died for Elizabeth himself. And he understood as well that there were things bigger than Elizabeth, bigger than England, for all they were things for which he did not have a name. Faith. God. Liberty. None of it was enough. Worse things had been done in those names than Elizabeth's.

For Leah. Yes. Because for her, I would crawl through fire.

Cathoair reached out with both hands, his last measure of strength, and yanked Mingan's body against his own, pressed his mouth down, broke both their lips between their teeth so the bright taste of blood flavored the kiss.

Right now, with the taste of Muire's life hot on his lips, filling him with a restless passion, the temptation is unbearable.

He tried to feel the meaning of the words, speak them with passion nonetheless. If this was what he was inspired to, then he would not believe he had been inspired wrong. And it wrong to simply intone the Scholar-God's arguments. They must be…internalized. Considered. Spoken as if they lived and breathed and were each day argued anew, not as if they lay dead and dusty in some tomb.

Maybe rebellion had gotten its teeth into her soul.

Michelangelo lifted his chin, turned, and gave Vincent a smile warm enough to melt his implants. He glanced over his shoulder, as if ascertaining the lounge was empty, then learned forward, slid both hands up Vincent's neck, and pulled Vincent's head down to plant a warm, tender kiss on his lips.

Passion filled him, terrible and sweet, a craving as fierce as ever. It was not something one could turn on a courtesan-this wantom cupidity-and expect him to live. But another wampyr was not prey, was not a courtesan. Another wampyr was an equal and a rival, though David might be less than a quarter Sebastien's age, and quite capable of surviving his unalloyed strength.

It's an addiction. An obsession. It is not safe.

He knew Michelangelo wanted him, as he had always known. As Michelangelo had always permitted him to know.

Michelangelo leaned back, but his breath stayed warm on Vincent's cheek and Vincent didn't pull away.

You have had many lovers, it seems." "I have many liasons," the Elf-knight answered, unflinchingly. "I have one lover.

Love, all I want is to make love to somebody who knows my name.

Sebastien said nothing, but his lips burned with Jack's warmth as he shut the door behind himself and turned to face the stair.

We've walked into a lover's quarrel, gentlemen.

He wondered if a werewolf's bloodlust, its passion, its compulsion, could possibly be more unendurable than his thirst.