Quotes About Passion

What I wanted most was a life of vigorous quality.

Though I will always be a visitor to Charleston, I will always remain one with a passionate belief that it is the most beautiful city in America and that to walk the old section of the city at night is to step into the bloodstream of a history extravagantly lived by a people born to a fierce and unshakable advocacy of their past.

Great romantics are granted lots of slack.

This book demonstrates again and again that there is no passion more rewarding than reading itself, that it remains the best way to dream and to feel the sheer carnal joy of being fully and openly alive.

Egotism is but the perversion of spiritual being. Ambition is the inversion of spiritual power. Passion is the distortion of love. The mortal is the limitation of the immortal. When these false images give place to true, then the spiritual man stands forth luminous, as the sun, when the clouds disperse. 4.

Sorry, he said penitently. It's a book. I have no common sense around them.

He glimpsed her familiar face then, very clearly, vivid and flushed with passion. 'Don't do that,' he warned. 'Don't look like that.' 'Like what?' 'Don't feel. It's a stronger spell than the sorceress's.

Hexel's blue eyes were narrowed, his long, black hair looked suddenly windblown, though the candles behind him burned still. As a dramatist and composer, he had an exhausting passion for dramatics. He was lean, moody, intense; students at the music school constantly pushed notes under his door, or set his discarded scribbles to music, or dropped roses or themselves across his work.

That, apparentlu, was what happened when one fell in love. One's brains were sucked away, or turned gelatinous.

You write your first novel with the desperation of the damned. You're afraid that you'll never write anything else, ever again.

Ludilo i strast su se uvijek izmjenjivali. Kroz cijelu zapadnu književnu tradiciju. Ludilo je obilje egzistencije. Ludilo je na?in postavljanja teških pitanja.

You were the best thing in my life … I did love you. I do. As much as I've ever loved anyone, as much as I can. It feels like a lot – it takes up my whole heart.

The longing for solitude is a deeply romantic passion. But then writing is a romantic thing to do, predicated on desire, urgency, and an ideal of human connection, hardly available in what we wistfully call real life.

Carol looked at her. How do you become a poet? By feeling things - too much, I suppose, Therese answered conscientiously.

What else mattered except being with Carol, anywhere, anyhow?

Love was supposed to be a kind of blissful insanity.

Don't you know I love you?' Carol said.

Yet the way she felt about Carol passed all the tests for love and fitted all the descriptions.

I feel I am in love with you and it should be Spring. I want the sun throbbing on my head like chords of music. I think of a sun like Beethoven, a wind like Debussy, and bird-calls like Stravinsky. But the tempo is all mine.

I won't ever set the world on fire as a painter,' Dickie said, 'but I get a great deal of pleasure out of it.

That night, talking over the road map about their route tomorrow, talking as matter-of-factly as a couple of strangers, Therese thought surely tonight would not be like last night. But when they kissed good night in bed, Therese felt their sudden release, that leap of response in both of them, as if their bodies were of some materials, which put together inevitably created desire.

I read, write and create. I must lose myself in work, so that there is no space for the other/anything else.

If the writer thinks about his material long enough, until it becomes a part of his mind and wakes up thinking about it- then at least when he starts to work, it will flow out as if by itself.

Therese leaned closer toward it, looking down at her glass. She wanted to thrust the table aside and spring into her arms, to bury her nose in the green and gold scarf that was tied close about her neck. Once the backs of their hands brushed on the table, and Therese's skin there felt separately alive now, and rather burning.