Quotes About Passion

And Christianity without passion, danger, and mystery may not really be Christianity after all.

In 1989 I retired from Bell Laboratories to become a full-time writer. Not that I didn't enjoy my engineering career, but rather I liked being a novelist just a bit better.

Love like that? Hell, it seems so pure, it's damn near criminal.

she was so simply his love, his girl, watching him approach as if she were memorizing him and his walk and those flowers and this moment, and he wanted to ask her what sound a heart made when it broke from pleasure, when just the sight of someone filled you the way food, blood, and air never could, when you felt as if you'd been born for only one moment, and this, for whatever reason, was it.

Craftsmanship, his Uncle Cornelius had once told him, was just a fancy word for what happened when labor met love.

You should write because some stray scrap of your soul is trying to manifest itself verbally.

Love, impossible, yet there was no mistaking it

God's will is generally for us to do more of whatever we are most grateful for or whatever gives us most life.

Children are God's or nature's practical joke on couples—that which is produced by passion then proceeds to nearly kill it.

A simple test to ascertain how much you enjoy and derive meaning from your work is to ask yourself whether you would continue doing it if you won the lottery.

I know I'll never find anyone who makes me feel the way he does. I can't believe I've gotten in so deep, so soon. I mean, this shouldn't' be such a big deal; we haven't even slept together, for chrissake. I can't help but wonder, once again, if I'm dodging the bullet or losing the love of my life.

He slips his hand onto the nape of my neck, runs his long fingers through my tangled and gently kisses my forehead. I close my eyes. "I'm in so much trouble here," I mumble. But I don't have the wherewithal to resist as he presses his determined lips to mine.

When you long with all your heart for someone to love you, a madness grows there that shakes all sense from the trees and the water and the earth. And nothing lives for you, except the long deep bitter want. And this is what everyone feels from birth to death.

Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi' loving you.

Then let amourous kisses dwell On our lips, begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score A Hundred and a Thousand more

Your face is my heart Sassenach, and the love of you is my soul

Damn right I begrudge! I grudge every memory of yours that doesna hold me, and every tear ye've shed for another, and every second you've spent in another man's bed!

Not for the first time, I reflected that intimacy and romance are not synonymous.

I want to hold you hard to me and kiss you, and never let you go. I want to take you to my bed and use you like a whore, 'til I forget that I exist. And I want to put my head in your lap and weep like a child. The mouth turned up at one corner, and a blue eye opened slitwise. Unfortunately, he said, I can't do any but the last of those without fainting or being sick again.

Mo Nighean donn, he whispered, mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart. Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me. a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

Then kiss me, Claire, he whispered, And know that you are more to me than life, and I have no regret.

Could I but lay my head in your lap, lass. Feel your hand on me, and sleep wi' the scent of you in my bed. Christ, Sassenach. I need ye.

You'll lie wi' me now, he said quietly. And I shall use ye as I must. And if you'll have your revenge for it, then take it and welcome, for my soul is yours, in all the black corners of it.

I want to hold you like a kitten in my shirt, and still I want to spread your thighs and plow ye like a rotting bull. I dinna understand myself.