Quotes About Passion

I hate to lose more than I love winning, and I'm coming to Dallas to win a Super Bowl.

I want to win the damn Super Bowl. That's what drives me.

I think it would be a great honor to get another Super Bowl, but not just limited to that. Other events, sporting or otherwise, I think New Jersey has an enormous opportunity given our location and our natural resources, our passion generally and specifically for sports, I think we're a natural.

I love playing. I want to win a Super Bowl.

I liked the Sex Pistols' music. I thought it was superb.

We had some glorious nights at Goodison and the fans were superb.

I'm a designer, and I work very hard at that. People sometimes want to put down fashion by saying it's frivolous or superficial, but it's not that way at all. It's actually very hard work.

I understand that the average person can't imagine damaging their looks in any way if it could be avoided. But I don't value my physical beauty to the point where I would not do something I truly enjoy because I'm afraid of potentially hurting something superficial.

Between the ages of 18 and 20, I made three hour-long films. One was a superhero film called 'Carbolic Soap.' One was a cop film called 'Dead Right.' And the other was called 'A Fistful Of Fingers.'

I'd loved 'Iron Man,' you know, with a passion. I thought that was the most fresh, cool thing, in terms of superhero movies, that I'd seen in a long time.

In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?

No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids you write, find out wether it spreading out its root in the deepest places of your heart...Delve into yourself for a deep answer

All the soarings of my mind begin in my blood.

You darkness, that I come from, I love you more than all the fires that fence in the world.

Art too is just a way of living.

Someday you will name me, then gently place those burning holy roses in my hair. [Songs of Longing]

Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, where no one can go any further.

Confess to yourself in the deepest hour of the night whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. Dig deep into your heart, where the answer spreads its roots in your being, and ask yourself solemnly, Must I write?

This, above all, ask yourself in the stillest hour of the night: must I write? Delve deep into yourself. And if this should be affirmative, if you may meet this question witha strong and simple 'I must' then build your lfie according to this necessity; your life even into its most indifferent and slightest hour must be a sign of this urge and a testimony to it.

Yes, the Springs needed you. Many a star was waiting for your eyes only. A wave swelled toward you out of the past, or as you walked by the open window a violin inside surrendered itself to pure passion. All that was your charge. But were you strong enough? Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as though each such moment presaged a beloved's coming? (But where would you keep her, with all those big strange thoughts in you going and coming and sometimes staying all night?)

What an unilateral life, when from the material of a renunciation, we must fashion something we love.

Death is our friend precisely because it brings us into absolute and passionate presence with all that is here, that is natural, that is love. Death stands before eternity and says YES.

And the heart has become so tired, and the longing so vast.

How he loved and yet wished to leave you: always both, at once.