Quotes About Passion

head-over-heels

But when I accept the call of creative passion, I am a bold stroke of vermilion, a renegade hyperbole, or the wild fury of jazz violin. The world is a canvas to explore, a blank page to fill, and an arpeggio of waiting experiences. This moving masterpiece called "life" becomes intoxicating when it's lived as if it were art.

If you look closely you'll find all my lovers inscribed on my skin.

Chocolate is not a matter of life and death--it's more important than that.

It was not enough. It was too much. It was everything.

He knew he had no right to touch her, crave her like air, but he did both. And when he put his mouth on hers, he recognized the taste of her, like she'd been made just for him.

She nodded, her gaze locked on his mouth. He could tell she wanted it on hers, and for once, they were perfectly in sync. Having no idea what he was doing, he kissed her again, another no-holds-barred, tongues tangling, rock-his-fucking-world kiss that left him staggered and her apparently unable to speak as they tore apart for air and waited for the world to right itself. Didn't happen.

It's the kissing! The stupid kissing! It's like he kissed all the vital brain cells right out of my head!

I don't want to dig him or his sexy self. But I keep losing my clothes when I'm with him.

Days turn to night. The ocean tide drifts in and out. And I want you, Tara. Damn you, but I do. I always have.

It was incredibly hard to hold on to resentment for someone when you'd had your tongue down their throat. Plus, he kissed like magic.

Heat skittered through her belly, then directly south. "Sawyer." In answer, he brought his head up and kissed her. Deep, hungry, tasting her in a purposely slow, thorough manner before pulling back to once again look into her eyes. Oh, God. "Sawyer, what are we doing?" she whispered. He shook his head. "No f#cking clue.

A thong. God bless the thong. He hooked his fingers in the silk sides and tugged, rolling the silk down her legs until it hit the floor, his favorite place for panties.

She had no idea how long they kissed—and kissed—but she didn't think about stopping until she ran out of air. Breathing hard, she slowly opened her eyes and stared directly into his. They'd heated. Darkened. And something else. He wasn't looking so relaxed now. In fact, he was looking the opposite of relaxed. He looked…feral. And she was his prey.

Oh boy. His chest was smooth and warm and hard as stone, and she wanted to both touch and nibble. And lick. Could she pretty please lick?

I'm never going to get tired of finding you looking at me that way. Like you have to have me right now." She laughed, then looked around to make sure Leah wasn't too close. "I just had you," she whispered…

Still mad," she gasped. He covered one of her fists with his hand, entwining their fingers, while his other slipped beneath her, stroking her where they were joined, slowly driving her straight to heaven without a seat belt. "Then I should stop.

Are you angry? Because we do some of our best naked work when you're angry.

There were some men who just knew how to kiss, the kind of kiss that could send a woman reeling. The kind of kiss that could take away problems and awareness and … and everything. The kind of kiss that could shatter her into a trillion little pieces. The kind of kiss that somehow both calmed her body and soul even as it wound her up for more. Aidan was that kind of kisser.

He stepped closer. Lily--- No. Stay back, she said, pointing a finger at him. He went still. Why? Because when you come close I do stupid things. Like? Like let you kiss me. Let me? He laughed ruefully. Lily, you just about crawled up my body to get at these lips. She narrowed her eyes. Like I said. Stupid.

Trying to cool his jets, trying to let her stay in charge, he attempted to hold back, but she let out this breathy little whimper like he was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

The truth was, she'd never really thought about love before—the heart-pounding, can't-live-without-you kind of love that grows in the pit of the stomach and spreads outward until you're warm all over. The kind of love you know is real because you've got not one single teeny, tiny doubt that he'd be there for you, no matter what

The kiss ignited like a rocket flash. Not that this surprised her. Everything pertaining to Mark seemed to burn hot and fast. Frustration, lust… His mouth was rough, hot and hungry on hers as he pulled her closer, taking control. She heard herself moan, kissing him with helpless desperation. If dessert was her usual drug of choice, it'd just been replaced because she couldn't seem to get enough of him.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, his biceps, and dug in as if to hold him here, right here. But he wasn't going anywhere. He liked her hands on him, liked her tongue in his mouth, and when she made that noise deep in her throat, the one that said she was as lost as him, he groaned, both in pleasure and with a good amount of what-the-fuckery, because he knew. He was in trouble. Down to the bone trouble, and he didn't give one single shit.