Quotes About Passion

Préfères-tu, rose, être l'ardente compagne de nos transports présents? Est-ce les souvenir qui davantage te gagne lorsqu'un bonheur se reprend? Tant de fois je t'ai vue, heureuse et sèche, - chaque pétale un linceul - dans un coffret odorant, à côté d'une mèche, ou dans un livre aimé qu'on relira seul.

Nobody can advise and help you, nobody. There is only one single means. Go inside yourself. Discover the motive that bids you write; examine whether it sends its roots down to the deepest places of your heart, confess to yourself whether you would have to die if writing were denied you. This before all: ask yourself in the quietest hour

If one think he can live without writing, perhaps he should not write at all.

confess to yourself whether you would have to die if writing were denied you.

Because he loves only as man, not as human being, there is in his sexual feelings something narrow, seemingly wild, malicious, temporal, finite, which weakens his art and makes it equivocal and dubious.

Confessez-vous à vous-même: mourriez-vous s'il vous était défendu d'écrire ?

Go into yourself. Examine the reason that bids you to write; check whether it reaches its roots into the deepest region of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would die if it should be denied you to write. This above all: ask yourself in your night's quietest hour: must I write?

If two people managed not to get stuck in hatred during their honest struggles with each other, that is, in the edges of their passion that became ragged and sharp when it cooled and set, if they could stay fluid, active, flexible, and changeable in all of their interactions and relations, and, in a word, if a mutually human and friendly consideration remained available to them, then their decision to separate cannot easily conjure disaster and terror.

If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing… then you are a writer.

If, when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing then you are a writer" Se alla mattina quando ti alzi non pensi altro che allo scrivere allora sei uno scrittore

It is quite rare to encounter a truly creative and productive person who resides in his own stillness or simply in the midst of his melody, close to the honest beating of his heart!

There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write.

To be loved means to be ablaze. To love is: to cast a light with inexhaustible oil. To be loved is to pass away; to love is to last. (Letters on Life)

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... Life always says Yes and No simultaneously. Death (I implore you to believe) is the true Yea-sayer. It stands before eternity and says only: Yes.

No one can advise and assist you, no one. There is only one way: go into yourself. Seek out the reason that commands you to write; discover if it has stretched out its roots into the deepest part of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would have to die if it were forbidden you to write.

N'est-il pas temps que ceux qui aiment se libèrent de l'objet aimé et le surmontent, frémissants ? Ainsi le trait vainc la corde pour être, rassemblé dans le bond, plus que lui-même. Car nulle part il n'est d'arrêt.

There is only one way: go into yourself. Seek out the reason that commands you to write; discover if it has stretched out its roots into the deepest part of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would have to die if it were forbidden you to write.

love then is what my hands attempt to grasp because I want to say a prayer whose sounds my burning mouth, my lips, cannot bring forth …

You are looking outward, which, now above all, you should not do. No one can advise and assist you, no one. There is only one way: go into yourself. Seek out the reason that commands you to write; discover if it has stretched out its roots into the deepest part of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would have to die if it were forbidden you to write.

Il vostro più intimo accadere è degno di tutto il vostro amore.

There is only one way. Go into yourself. Examine the reason that bids you to write; check whether it reaches its roots into the deepest region of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would die if it should be denied you to write.

As one puts a handkerchief before pent-in-breath- no: as one presses it against a wound out of which the whole of life, in a single gush, wants to stream, I held you to me: I saw you turn red from me. How could anyone express what took place between us? We made up for everything there was never time for. I matured strangely in every impulse of unperformed youth, and you, love, had wildest childhood over my heart…

To understand our being here as one side of being in its entirety and to exhaust it passionately, this would be the demand placed on us by death; while life, as long as one truly admits it, is in every spot all of life.

A piece of art is good if it is born of necessity. This, its source, is its criterion; there is no other.