Quotes About Passion

Who can control how much they love? If you can control it, then it isn't love. I don't know what you call it instead, but it isn't love.

Quando si è giovani-parlo per me almeno-si vogliono provare sentimenti simili a quelli di cui leggiamo nei libri. Passioni che ti sconvolgono la vita, che creano e definiscono una realtà nuova. Più tardi, mi pare, vogliamo dai sentimenti qualcosa di più pratico e modesto: che siano di sostegno alla nostra vita per come è diventata e si manifesta. Vogliamo che ci garantiscano che va tutto bene. E che c'è di male in questo? da Il senso di una fine

He remembered, at school, being guided by masters through books and plays in which there was often a Conflict between Love and Duty. In those old stories, innocent but passionate love would run up against the duty owed to family, church, king, state. Some protagonists won, some lost, some did both at the same time; usually, tragedy ensued. No doubt in religious, patriarchal, hierarchical societies, such conflicts continued and still gave themes to writers.

It seems to me that when you are young, you think about sex most of the time, but you don't reflect on it much

Who can control how much they love? If you can control it, then it isn't love. I don't know what you call it instead, but it isn't love.

Which ones I was not sure, only that passion and danger, ecstasy and despair (but then more ecstasy) would be in attendance. However Ã¢â'¬Â¦ who said that thing about "the littleness of life that art exaggerates"? There was a moment in my late twenties when I admitted that my adventurousness had long since petered out. I would never do those things adolescence had dreamt about. Instead, I mowed my lawn, I took holidays, I had my life.

No, while most people have been at their unhappiest when in love, it is nevertheless the state the human being yearns for above all.

I miss art. I miss art. Life would be worth living if I had art.

When you're in the world looking for only one thing, you find it or it finds you. The obsession can be mutual

I know that I am—all that I am. And all that I am is full and ripe. All that I am is standing still, waiting and watching and bursting with life. Holding the straining seams of my skin, my passion and wit and my sanity in. Waiting for someone to soothe and to say "I understand. You're home.

I've come to realize that home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

When and if Violet ever fell in love, lightning would split the heavens, tectonic plates would shift, continents would reorder themselves. Because she might be willful and spoiled and impetuous, but no one loved with the force of his sister. Her love story would be epic.

Did that kiss nearly destroy the memory of all other kisses, and become the benchmark against which all future kisses would be measured?

i can only think god is responsible for passion,for god gives us bodies with which to express it and heart in which to hold it

Not every man will make you want to do anything he wishes because the moment he touches you your body is his to command. Not every man is capable of making you scream with bliss in every imaginable position, or knows where to touch you or listens to your breath and your sighs to know precisely how to touch you, so that the pleasure you experience is the most intense. Not every man will make you see stars every ...single... time.

I thought love was meant to be an easy, peaceful thing, Lillias. But it's like life itself. It's maddening. And beautiful. And changeable and funny and passionate. It's...like a Hudson River Valley sunset. Underneath all that fire and glory the sky is ever constant. It's like you. For me, it is you.

I couldn't see it because you are my heart, damn you! And how can I see my own heart if it's beating in my own chest?

He was older, bolder. He knew of whores and wars, violence and vendettas. He knew precisely what he wanted, always. He wanted her.

Rebecca stared back at him, still dazed. She'd forgotten how to speak; it seemed an unimportant skill, anyhow, when such kisses were to be had, when a whole world could be made from a kiss.

It's . . . Titian, Genevieve breathed. I'm sure of it. A slow, awestruck, disbelieving smile took over her face. Stunned pleasure shone from her eyes. And he was certain her heart was racing with the sheer delight of being in the presence of the thing. Because his heart was racing at simply watching her love it.

All his reckless, whimsical, sensual testing of the world throughout the years had been a search for what he knew with her. Passion and peace. Laughter and combat and friendship. God, but he loved her. It was an immensely humbling, enormous, radiant thing.

She most definitely had an instinct for passion, an instinct that matched his own, that had nearly caused him to lose his head. Well, now he knew her skin was petal smooth; he knew the rich wine of her mouth; he knew the feel of that delicate, puckered nipple rubbed against his cheek---

You wagered you could indulge passion and receive trust and honor in return, and lost.