Quotes About Passion

I urge you: Come be angry at a nearer distance.

I wonder about death, I who may never know it. It looks much like ecstacy, the way they open their mouths as they drown, the way their fingers dig into your skin. Their eyes are wide and startled and they trash in your hands as though with an excess of passion.

You're young, but you're ambitious in the way that perhaps only the young can be.

She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had.

Some might think of him as a strong draught, burning the back of one's throat, but invigorating all the same. You might beg to differ. So long as you're begging, he doesn't mind a bit.

He's the kind of beautiful that makes people want to smash things.

Most of all, I hate you because I think of you.

Not a heart of stone, but a heart of fire.

Then her mouth is sliding against mine. Her lips open, soft and yielding. Our teeth click together, and she tastes like every dark thought I've ever had.

One of his hands slides over my stomach, tracing the shape of my skin. He kisses me again, and it's like falling off a cliff. Like a mountain slide, building momentum with every touch, until there is only destruction ahead. I have never felt anything like this.

Startled, he loosed his grasp and she pulled free. He clutched her arm, but she spun around and pressed her mouth to his. His lips were rough, chapped. She felt the sting of fangs against her bottom lip. He made a sharp sound in the back of his throat and closed his eyes. Mouth opening under hers. The smell of him- of cold, damp stone- made her head swim. One kiss slid into another and it was perfect, was exactly right, was real.

When his eyes meet mine, desire, as keen as any blade, bends the air between us. The moment slows. I want to bite his lip. To feel the heat of his skin. To slide my hands beneath his armor and trace the map of his scars.

Dead or not, I have come for his heart and I will have it.

Our eyes meet, and something dangerous sparks. He hates you, I remind myself. "Kiss me again," he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it.

To Ben, love was the flame in which he wanted to be reborn. He wanted to be remade by it.

I hate you," I breathe into his mouth. "I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else.

The more you love her, the crazier you get. My love was great. My crimes were greater.

His eyes look too bright, the way the do in people who are in love, people who are enraged, and people who are completely bonkers.

I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when i look at him I can hardly breathe. page 30

Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones.

For what we want most, we will take almost any chance.

El te odia. Incluso si te desea, te odia. Tal vez te odia más por eso.

He leans in and closes his eyes. "Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It's disgusting, and I can't stop." I am shocked into silence.

But I can't pretend that I don't like the sound of him screaming my name.