Quotes About Passion

Do you know I love you ? - I'm sure I don't care whether you do or not !

There is only one recipe - to care a great deal for the cookery.

She never wanted the truth . . . She wanted you . She would have taken from you what you could give her, and been glad of it even if she had known it false. You might have lied to her from pity, and she have seen you and felt you lie, and yet—since it was all for tenderness—she would have thanked you and blessed you and clung to you but the more. For that was your strength, my dear man—that she loves you with passion.

Satisfied to die in the flower of her youth? Well, at peace with you. Oh, 'peace'! he murmured with his eyes on the fire. The peace of having loved. He raised his eyes to her. Is that peace? Of having been loved, she went on. That is. Of having, she wound up, realised her passion. She wanted nothing more. She had had all she wanted.

What had the man had, to make him by the loss of it so bleed and yet live? Something—and this reached him with a pang—that he, John Marcher, hadn't; the proof of which was precisely John Marcher's arid end.  No passion had ever touched him, for this was what passion meant; he had survived and maundered and pined, but where had been his deep ravage?... The escape would have been to love her; then, then he would have lived. 

He asked himself whether it could be that he was in love with her, and then hoped he was not; hoped it not so much for his own sake as for that of the amatory passion itself. If this was love, love had been overrated.

She was keeping her head for a reason, for a cause; and the labour of this detachment, with the labour of her forcing the pitch of it down, held them together in the steel hoop of an intimacy compared with which artless passion would have been but a beating of the air. Her

She believed just then that to let him take her in his arms would be the next thing to her dying. This belief, for a moment, was a kind of rapture, in which she felt herself sink and sink.

The chief impression produced on Isabel's spirit by this criticism, was that the passion of love separated its victim terribly from everyone but the loved object

I'm capable of nothing with regard to you . . . but just of being infernally in love with you.

Now that he was alone with her all the passion he had never stifled surged into his senses; it hummed in his eyes and made things swim round him.

There was a kind of violence in some of her impulses.

She sometimes felt a sort of passion of tenderness for memories which had led no other merit than that they belonged to her unmarried life.

I shall always think of you; I shall never think of anyone else. I came to England simply because you are here; I couldn't stay at home after you had gone: I hated the country because you were not in it. If I like this country at present it is only because it holds you.

Quote of the day: Quote of the day: We work in the dark - we do what we can - we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art. [info][add][mail][note] Henry James (1843 - 1916)

She had to take from him again, on this, one of his long looks, and she took it to its deepest, its headiest dregs.

Well, if you love me intensely let me as intensely alone.

I love you as I've never loved you.

The great thing is to love something.

Per me, soggiunse, - uno può amare una cosa o non amarla, non si può amar tutto, evidentemente: ma non si può neppur tentare di farsene una ragione, non si sa dove questo possa condurre. Ci son sentimenti buoni che possono avere cattivissime ragioni. non vi pare, e cattivi che ne vantano di buonissime.

la passione amorosa separa terribilmente le sue vittime da tutti, tranne che dall'oggetto amoroso

the sudden hour that had transformed his life, the hour of his perceiving with a mute inward gasp akin to the low moan of apprehensive passion that a world was left him to conquer and that he might conquer it if he tried. It

He has made me believe in true love; I never did before!

Ah, I must see Ralph! Isabel wailed; not in resentment, not in the quick passion her companion had looked for; but in a tone of far-reaching, infinite sadness.