Quotes About Passion

Obsessed? I don't know what the word means. I know there were times when I couldn't think of anything else. I used to stay in every weeknight in the hope that he might get free and call me. It felt like I had a disease I didn't want to get rid of. I suppose that's a definition of obsession, yes.

Any man in love with Cesare is already half in love with his sister.

Something in transit is in love.

I was a poet when I loved him.

You've found that there is something that can make you feel, and make you feel present: sex. Not the routine, dusk-and-dawn sex of a trusted, established relationship, but illicit, dangerous sex. Sex that is novel and leaves you sore; that is experienced in the gaps between your mundane, moral life; that is strange and breathless and addictive.

Lipstick never lasted long when they were together; he would always kiss her after she had applied it, as if he liked the smearing viscous sensation. Sometimes she felt sure it was discomposing her that he enjoyed.

It didn't feel like sex. It felt like the absolute necessity to mate, lion with lioness, an affirmation of life.

Because love by its nature desires a future.

non so come comunicarti qualcosa dell'assoluto eterno indomabile incondizionato inarrestabile irrazionale razionalissimo costante infinito amore che ho per te.

Phaedara: Can't switch this off. Can't crush it. Can't. Wake up with it, burning me. Think I'll crack open I want him so much. I talk to him. He talks to me, you know, we, we know each other very well, he tells me things, we're very close. About sex and how much it depresses him, and I know -

Phaedra: Can't switch this off. Can't crush it. Can't. Wake up with it, burning me. Think I'll crack open I want him so much. I talk to him. He talks to me, you know, we, we know each other very well, he tells me things, we're very close. About sex and how much it depresses him, and I know -

There's a thing between us, an awesome f*cking thing, can you feel it? It burns. Meant to be. We were. Meant to be.

Sometimes I turn around and catch the smell of you and I cannot go on I cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful physical aching fucking longing I have for you. And I cannot believe that I can feel this for you and you feel nothing. Do you feel nothing?

I love you still, Against my will.

I am much fucking angrier than you think.

Death is my lover and he wants to move in.

Be absolutely determined to enjoy what you do.

She'd had sex with a boy she wasn't going to marry. She'd fallen in love with him, knowing that it would never work. Right now the pain seemed worth it because she was in his arms.

The most fervent kiss of my life was less than five seconds long more than ten years ago with someone else's husband. It still hasn't quite worn off.

Others were in love. Desire abandoned them all.

I will never not want you, understand? I love you. I adore you. I admire you. I desire you. You are my heart. My blood, my bones. My everything.

Her perfume enveloped him as he reached for her. His hands smoothed over soft fabric before finding the warmth of her skin. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him hungrily, greedily. She tasted so good. Like sin. Like every dirty thought he'd ever had.

It's a very romantic sentiment, but to think that you would die if you didn't write, well, I would definitely choose to not write and live.

Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you...