Quotes About Passion

The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.

It was jealousy that was at the bottom of it - jealousy which survives every other passion of mankind...

Uno de ellos cantaba bajo la ventana del dormitorio; otro posado en la rama mas alta de las lilas; un tercero sobre el reborde del muro. Todos cantaban con una voz estridente, apasionada, vehemente, que parecía que iba a hacerles estallar el corazón, sin cuidarse de la áspera disonancia producida con el canto del pájaro vecino.

Nothing happens here except that I write and write, and curse and burn.

The fire that warms us can also consume us; it is not the fault of the fire.

Man is free only when he is doing what the deepest self likes, and knowing what the deepest self likes, ah! that takes some diving.

Literature and butterflies are the two sweetest passions known to man.

Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me.

hot, opalescent, thick tears that poets and lovers shed)...

My heart was a hysterical unreliable organ.

I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else.

But in my arms she was always Lolita.

To begin with, let us take the following motto...Literature is Love. Now we can continue.

In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood.

The fire you rubbed left its brand on the most vulnerable, most vicious and tender point of my body. Now I have to pay for your rasping the red rash too strongly, too soon, as charred wood has to pay for burning. When I remain without your caresses, I lose all control of my nerves, nothing exists any more than the ecstasy of friction, the abiding effect of your sting, of your delicious poison.

I want you to leave your incidental Dick, and this awful hole, and come to live with me, and die with me, and everything with me.

My only grudge against nature was that I could not turn my Lolita inside out and apply voracious lips to her young matrix, her unknown heart, her nacreous liver, the sea-grapes of her lungs, her comely twin kidneys.

I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t'aimais, je t'aimais!

She would try to relieve the pain of love by first roughly rubbing her dry lips against mine; then my darling would draw away with a nervous toss of her hair, and then again come darkly near and let me feed on her open mouth, while with a generosity that was ready to offer her everything, my heart, my throat, my entrails, I gave her to hold in her awkward first the scepter of my passion.

Humbert Humbert: You know, I've missed you terribly. Lolita Haze: I haven't missed you. In fact, I've been revoltingly unfaithful to you. Humbert Humbert: Oh? Lolita Haze: But it doesn't matter a bit, because you've stopped caring anyway. Humbert Humbert: What makes you say I've stopped caring for you? Lolita Haze: Well, you haven't even kissed me yet, have you?

We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives. I was a strong lad and survived; but the poison was in the wound, and the wound remained ever open

I love you, I'm waiting for you unbearably.

And I looked and looked at her, and knew as clearly as I know I am to die, that I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else.

I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.