Quotes About Passion

Kept Burning and Distant" 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.

At the moment, he kinda knew how the male praying mantis felt when he was approaching Ms. Mantis, knowing the sex was going to be great but he was going to gethis head bitten off. Ah, well. Some things were worth losing your head.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free.

Il y a des écrivains qui réunissent cent mille personnes à leur enterrement et il y a ceux qui n'ont jamais suscité la ferveur que d'une poignée de passeurs, confrérie clandestine dont les membres se transmettent le flambeau d'une génération à l'autre. (p. 143)

Being a McKettrick meant claiming a piece of ground to stand on and putting your roots down deep into it. Holding on, no matter what came at you. It meant loving with passion and taking the rough spots with the smooth. It meant fighting for what you wanted, letting go when that was the best thing to do.

To be the other woman is to be a season that is always about to end, when the air is flowered with jasmine and peach, and the weather day after day is flawless, and the forecast is hurricane.

We wanted to sing about the passions of mature women: love and concern for our children, love between trusted and treasured friends, the precariousness of romantic love, the difference between the love you give to the living and the love you give to the dead, the bitterness of a lost love remembered, and the long, steady love you keep for good.

The line between passionate and crazy can be a thin one.

No!" Nellie said fiercely. "I got into it because of the money. But now --

I loved before I met him, a large, hulking, healthy Adam ... with a voice like the thunder of God — a singer, story-teller, lion and world-wanderer, a vagabond who will never stop. She

There was something about the Me Tarzan, You Jane scenario that revved her engines.

They have long grown accustomed to the hum of passion at work in the walls, the bees crawling over swollen combs to cram every inch with cells, till the sheer weight of honey unconsumed shows with the ceiling's fall.

It's very unlikely that a writer is going to make a living by writing. So then the question is: how do you balance work, life, and writing? If you find out, please tell me.

I didn't do anything as active as deciding that I wanted to be a writer. For one thing, I didn't feel like I was the final authority on whether or not I was anything like a writer. (I'm a timid soul.) I just kept writing stories, because becoming a veterinarian seemed as if it involved too much dissection.

Admit it, you're in love because you enjoy the challenge.

Boys chase girls. Women chase men. Men chase history.

and suddenly I love you beyond all measure is not just words but a heart, a soul bursting open, a stripping raw of all pretense. It is Sully, it is Gabriel, it is his tears on my face, his body in mine, our minds seamless. It is hopes and dreams and failures. It is apologies and a prayer for redemption. It is heaven and damnation. All that I am is yours pales beside it. It is everything. It is love.

Money is not a motivating factor. Money doesn't thrill me or make me play better because there are benefits to being wealthy. I'm just happy with a ball at my feet. My motivation comes from playing the game I love. If I wasn't paid to be a professional footballer I would willingly play for nothing.

The music business was not safe, but it was FUN. It was like falling in love with a woman you know is bad for you, but you love every minute with her, anyway.

In my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times.

Lovers communicate not inside sentences, but between them. Passion lurks within interstice. It is grouting rather than bricks.

It isn't very nice to admit, but domestic violence has its uses. So raw and unleashed, it tears away the veil of civilization that comes between us as much as it makes life possible. A poor substitute for the sort of passion we like to extol perhaps, but real love shares more in common with hatred and rage than it does with geniality or politeness.

Nothing is interesting if you are not interested.

I seem to remember even from when I was very young that when you loved someone you also hated them for making you love them, since loving someone is so incredibly humiliating.