Quotes About Passion

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows, Are proud and implacable, passionate foes; It is always the same, wherever one goes. And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say that they do not like fighting, will often display Every symptom of wanting to join in the fray. And they Bark bark bark bark bark bark Until you can hear them all over the park.

I would meet you upon this honestly. I that was near your heart was removed therefrom To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition. I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it Since what is kept must be adulterated? I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch: How should I use them for your closer contact?

Playwriting gets into your blood and you can't stop it. At least not until the producers or the public tell you to.

Who then devised the torment? Love.

I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it Since what is kept must be adulterated?

Cognosco i segni dell antica fiamma

I can't fucking believe you're saying this. You know better. Being a grownup is suicide to an artist.

Sometimes I talk about baseball just to annoy people who don't understand it.

Because love does not do sums, but instead make choices, and then gives its all.

Love. Tired old jokes aside, a real, powerful love does have one thing in common with Hell itself: it burns everything else out of you.

Perhaps a heart was indeed like a piece of dry birchwood, and could only take fire and burn brightly once—that any fire that came after would be only an ember, smaller and cooler.

I try to write like a grown-up about things I fell in love with as a child.

Fine art won't fill me up, y'know.

I love everything about you. Don't you ever think I don't. Even when you make me mad, I love you so much I can hardly stand it.

Curse him for being all tight muscle, with ivory skin and a mouth as soft as rose petals. Curse him for having hair as fair as the sun, and eyes as black as night. Curse him for having the grace of a cat and deft, cool hands. And now I am having the same argument on paper that I have in my own head on too many nights. I know my choice is sensible, but it isn't my common sense I think with, those times Rosto's stolen a kiss from me.

She loved bats, but had learned years ago that few humans agreed.

Whatever she was, he would love her until they died

I did not say I knew swiving well what my spirit called for, and it was not a curst cage!

Fleur de feu. Oh flower of fire. That fire is not hate or fear, which makes flowers come, not terror or anger or lust, it is love that is the fire of the Bite-Me-Not, love which cannot abandon, love which cannot harm. Love which never dies.

But what, demanded the jawbones, with sinister insistency, is love?

Oscar) Wilde is surely one of the most erotic writers who ever lived.

In the midst of passion, some previous passion still held some sway, it seemed.

The young man in blue who had become his showpiece, a theater for Leopardo's passions, an irresistible echoing move also set hand to hilt.

Barely dampered by virginity or unpractice, their bodies seemed to know each other as their souls had seemed to.