Quotes About Passion

I couldn't sleep beside him. It was too strong. I wanted him too much. It never went away. (32)

loved that Amy Lowell poem when I first read it, how her lover was like red wine at the beginning and then became bread.

Looking at our faces you might have said we were all feverish and half mad, and perhaps you would have been right, but Helen's book made us feel we could rip the stars from the sky and write the world anew.

My body aches from my throat to my groin. I want him to slide his fingers into my bathing suit and make all the heaviness and misery go away. I feel like a hag in a fairy tale, waiting to be made young and supple again.

Han parkerar på min gata och vi hånglar lite till. Inget prat. Inga pussar. Kyssarna är långa och intima, som om vi berättar allt det vi behöver säga varandra på det här viset

I want too much. I always have.

She laughed. 'Was she wine or bread to you?' 'What do you mean?' 'It's from an Amy Lowell poem we all loved in college. Wine is sort of thrilling and sensual, and bread is familiar and essential.' 'Wine, I suppose.' 'Would it have turned to bread?' 'I don't know.' 'It doesn't always.' 'No, I suppose not.

Good heavens,' he says. 'Is that what it's like with your writers? The word "snug" and you're mad in love?

I think of all the people playing roles, getting further and further away from themselves, from what moves them, what stirs them all up inside.

We hold hands on the way back, but it feels like we're still kissing. My whole body responds to his hand in mine.

Was she wine or bread to you?' 'What do you mean?' 'It's from an Amy Lowell poem we all loved in college. Wine is sort of thrilling and sensual, and bread is familiar and essential.

The passion fades, the remorse is eternal.

The fonder you are of your ideals, the greater your heartbreaks.

Passion has helped us; but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason, cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, must furnish all the materials for our future support and defense.

We sat in his library. amidst his beloved books, whose company I knew he would rather seek than that of most of his acquaintances, did they but know it.

Tonight, I need him. I need him with every cell in my body. I need him on so many levels I couldn't begin to sort through them or make sense of any of it. I need him with an urgency that scares me, because control is the one thing I will never relinquish, even to him.

Yes... That's what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those ...about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion or another.

Faith is not something to be reasoned from afar, but something we throw ourselves into — heart, mind, and soul.

Write from the heart. A book without a pulse is like a person without a spirit." Linda Radke, President of Five Star Publications

Now when I'm down there blowing you, don't you worry about coming. I want it, baby. I want all of it, your hot spunk down my throat, spilling over my tongue. I wanna taste you for a week. So don't be shy. When you're ready, you come, okay?

Crescent illae crescetis amores.

Reading wasn't my religion – it was my oxygen.

Writing as proven to be hard work, often painful. I can honestly say I would rather be fishing.

You return when you feel like it, like rain. And like rain you are tender, with the rain's inept tenderness. A passion so general I could be anywhere. You carry me out into the wet air. You lay me down on the leaves and the strong thing is not the sex, But waking up alone under the tress after.