Quotes About Passion

You're crazy,' I say. 'Aye,' Logan says. 'Crazy about you.

I'm in love with you," he said again. "You're forever, Sunshine." [...] "I'm in love with you, too, Braxton Jenkins." Tears filled my eyes. "Forever won't be nearly long enough." "Sweetheart," he said, his eyes holding mine. "Forever is for fuckin' sissies. Pardon my French, but let's go for eternity, yeah?

It has been forever that people aspire towards liberty and rejoiced averytime they lost it. The mortals never loved with passion except those who handcuffed them . And whom they turn into myth? The executioners of their freedom

În ce priveÅŸte goana dup? chinuri ÅŸi înverÅŸunarea în suferin??, îndr?gostitul gelos e cam singurul care-i poate face concuren?? martirului. Åži, totuÅŸi, în timp ce acesta din urm? e canonizat, cel?lalt e luat în râs.

Als conformist leef ik, probeer ik te leven, door na te bootsen, uit respect voor de regels van het spel, uit afkeer van originaliteit. Gelatenheid van een automaat: de schijn van hartstocht veinzen en er in het geheim om lachen; je naar de conventies plooien om ze heimelijk te verwerpen; in alle registers voorkomen, maar zonder residentie in de tijd; je gezicht redden terwijl het nodig is het te verliezen...

En sí misma, toda idea es neutra o debería serlo; pero el hombre la anima, proyecta en ella sus llamas y sus demencias; impura, transformada en creencia, se inserta en el tiempo, adopta figura de suceso: el paso de la lógica a la epilepsia se ha consumado... Así nacen las ideologías, las doctrinas y las farsas sangrientas.

But how can those who violently experience hatred, despair, chaos, nothingness, or love, who burn with each passion and gradually die with each and in each, those who can only breathe on heights, who are always alone, especially when they are with others - how can they grow in linear fashion and crystallize into a system?

Youth makes poor judgment. Youth is driven by hormones. Reason takes a backseat to blind obsession with the opposite sex.

True love is rarely convenient. It usually strikes at the most inopportune moments. Rather like lightening. There's never a good time to be hit by that either. Bam. Too late to argue.

If you're not really into something, you don't put the time in, so you don't get good at it. Passion is the key to everyone's gifts.

glassblowing?" Noah shook his head. "My

What puts you so in the zone that hours and hours pass and you've barely glanced at the clock? If money were no issue, what is the thing you feel so passionately about that you'd do it for free? What do you care about enough to want to put in the time required to get better and better at it?

That's the way it has to be. If you're not really into something, you don't put the time in, so you don't get good at it. Passion is the key to everyone's gifts.

but in spite of all that we still loved each other. You can't switch those feelings off.

I got lost in him, and it was the kind of lost that's exactly like being found.

He smiled down into her eyes and she looked right at him and she knew him. When hadn't she known him? With a little sigh of acceptance, she moved into his arms, meeting his eager kiss with a mouth that was just as greedy as him

I was crazy. I was crazy in the way a child is crazy, in the way of someone who believes, with rash fervor, that life can be—that it will yet be, and most certainly—as you would wish it. How could I have been so foolish?

I was aware of doing only a so-so job on the grown-up career front, but I didn't really care, because there were two big exam questions I wanted to be sure I answered fully: the question of art, and the question of love.

While other girls were reading teen magazines and romances, you found The Story of O, and it was like a homecoming." "Yes," she breathed. Oh god, yes. "You

No one had ever touched her like this. It was perfect, almost too perfect, but only almost. "Fuck

But even now, a full century after he wrote his first school poem, scratched out in startlingly plain words on onion skin paper with a number two pencil, his heart and soul remain as fresh and brave as ever. Hemingway lives.

Asking a knitter what he or she plans on doing with the yarn he or she just bought is like asking a squirrel what it plans on doing with that nut it just buried under a pile of leaves.

My imagination can picture no fairer happiness than to continue living for art.

My health may be better preserved if I exert myself less, but in the end doesn't each person give his life for his calling?