Quotes About Passion

I look at you, Masha, and it is like drinking cold water. I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.

But love is love, and love is compulsion. I must, and I do.

I still want to kiss you. To feel the life in you seize on the life in me. Raw and fresh and new.

She's an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris.

The nearness of him crushed her, like being held by the sun.

she had saved herself for this, stored her love within her so that this book, which could not possibly have been written for any purpose but to crawl inside her and dwell there like a holy thing, so that this book would not be ashamed of her profligacy.

She walks into my life legs first, a long drink of water in the desert of my thirties. Her shoes are red; her eyes are green. She's an Italian flag in occupied territory, and I fall for her like Paris. She mixes my metaphors like a martini and serves up my heart tartare. They all do. Every time. They have to. It's that kind of story.

She was determined that I hold this thing inside me like a heart—something irremovable and constant.

You need me," said Xiaohui breathlessly, pulling November over her, sliding hands under her belt to claw and knead. "You need me." "Don't you mean 'I need you'?" whispered November in the girl's ear. "No," she sighed, arching her back, tipping her chin up, making herself easy to kiss, easy to fall into, easy to devour. "You'll see. You'll see.

She leaned in, and kissed her Marid gently, sweetly. She tried to kiss him the way she'd always thought kisses would be. His lips tasted like the sea.

She is so stubborn her heart has an argument with her head every time it wants to beat.

When you argue with verve in your saddlebags, you are extremely alive. That is why you yell and holler and shake your fist — could there be anything sweeter than convincing someone to see the world your way? What else is talking for, or jokes, or stories, or battles? The Loudest Magic, and how I loved it.

It is not possible to posses so many colors and a hard heart.

Everything in this place was livid and lurid and living, and when he loved her and hurt her all at once she lived, too, higher and harder than she had thought she could.

The Queen of a distant land fell in love with a bull. Nevermind how odd that sounds! The ancient world was as appalling place.

Dreams keep the heart alive.

I sell Damascus steel, folded and intricate, dug up from the earth, practically useless, desirable only to lovers of the arcane, the beautiful, the old. No

Everything in this place was livid and lurid and living, and when he loved her and hurt her all at once she lived, too, higher and harder than she had thought she could. Yes, she thought, magic is like that, when it comes.

Greta, Greta, he whispered, eyes shut in rapture, on thy breast I write my Edda, at thy feet I lay the keys of Niflheim, by thy leave alone, I live, and breathe, and die.

This is where Jean's stubbornness and, perhaps, God's stubborn grace came into play. "My definition of grace would be multifaceted, but part of it would certainly be God's passion for brokenness. He does, he really does love brokenness," Jean told me. "Grace doesn't obsess with ourselves. It obsesses with people and with brokenness. This is a hard place to live, but God is bigger than hard places to live.

When it's time to settle into the serial monogamy inherent in writing a book (although, between you and me, I secretly practice biblio-polygamy—I can't help myself)

No, it's like you get an idea in your head ... no, it's more like you get and idea in your heart.

But Fin would always be a bit of a romantic, at least when it came to books.

Your desire for me was like a physiological weakness, a sort of epilepsy. I needed to see you in its grip more than I needed to eat.