Quotes About Passion

Imagine getting to be one of those people who actually gets paid to talk about literature. He'd do this for free, not that he wants his publisher to know that.

A.J. watches Maya in her pink party dress, and he feels a vaguely familiar, slightly intolerable bubbling inside of him. He wants to laugh out loud or punch a wall. He feels drunk or at least carbonated. Insane. At first, he thinks this is happiness, but then he determines it's love. Fucking love, he thinks. What a bother.

I devour, and I am devoured," Marx said. "After Dov, I think I'm through with devouring," Sadie said. "I understand why you'd say that, but I also don't think you should give up on the devouring yet." Marx growled at her and pretended to bite her, and then he kissed her on the cheek.

If Marx at twenty-two had a problem, it was that he was attracted to too many things and people.

You're incredibly gifted, Sam. But it is worth noting that to be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.

I was fully devoted to it, and now I'm not. I think if I'd become a professional, I would likely have fallen out of love with it anyway. It isn't a sadness, but a joy, that we don't do the same things for the length of our lives.

The words of Anders Larsson came back to him: "To be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.

As Sam often said to Sadie, "Why make anything if you don't believe it could be great?

He had begun to suspect that while he had an obvious aptitude for math, he was not particularly inspired by it.

To be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.

Sadie had willed herself to be great: art doesn't typically get made by happy people.

So, I do want to be rich and famous. I am, as you know, a bottomless pit of ambition and need. But I also want to make something sweet.

it is worth noting that to be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.

She was intelligent, but her intelligence didn't get in her way of her enthusiasm

She leaned in to kiss him, and he kissed her, and then she put her hand between his legs, wrapping her fingers around the cylindrical chamber of blood sponges that was his (and every) penis. He felt the corpora cavernosa, commanded by nerve messages from his subconscious brain, fill up with blood, and the tunica albuginea membrane, the penis's straitjacket, trap the blood inside.

Sadie and Marx took a cab back to the hotel. "Do you mind what your father said?" she asked him. "No," Marx said. "I loved being a student actor. I was fully devoted to it, and now I'm not. I think if I'd become a professional, I would likely have fallen out of love with it anyway. It isn't a sadness, but a joy, that we don't do the same things for the length of our lives.

Sadie had willed herself to be great: art doesn't typically get made by happy people.

My god, she thought, he is so easy to love.

She loves quotation marks and peanut butter and words.

Marx's favorite adjective was "interesting." The world seemed filled with interesting books to read, interesting plays and movies to see, interesting games to play, interesting food to taste, and interesting people to have sex with and sometimes even to fall in love with. To Marx, it seemed foolish not to love as many things as you could.

and then she put her hand between his legs, wrapping her fingers around the cylindrical chamber of blood sponges that was his (and every) penis.

En fråga jag har tänkt en hel del på är varför det är så mycket enklare att skriva om det vi ogillar/inte tå/inte tycker håller måttet än det som vi älskar (s. 247).

he feels a vaguely familiar, slightly intolerable bubbling inside of him. He wants to laugh out loud or punch a wall. He feels drunk or at least carbonated. Insane. At first, he thinks this is happiness, but then he determines it's love.

There ain't nobody in the world like book people. It's a business of gentlemen and gentlewomen.