Quotes About Passion

I thought of telling him that his own touch seared my skin and filled my veins with fire. But I was already alight and glowing like a brand. I closed my eyes and felt the kindling touch move to cheek and temple, ear and neck, and shuddered as his hands dropped to my waist and drew me close.

To have ye with me again, to talk wi' you, to know I can say anything, not guard my words or hide my thoughts. God, Sassenach the Lord knows I am as lust-crazed as a lad, and I canna keep my hands from you, or anything else. But I would count that all well lost, had no more than the pleasure of havin' ye by me, and to tell ye all my heart.

I was born for you, I simply said, and held out my arms to him.

Are some people destined for a great fate, or to do great things? Or is it only that they're born somehow with that great passion—and if they find themselves in the right circumstances, then things happen? It's the sort of thing you wonder, studying history Ã¢â'¬Â¦ 

Diana Gabaldon

Does it ever stop? The wanting you? Even when I've just left ye. I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

his mouth was soft and warm and I moved instinctively toward him. I was vaguely conscious of noises, Scottish whoops of enthusiasm and encouragement from the spectators, but really noticed nothing beyond the enfolding warm solidness. Sanctuary.

Diana Gabaldon

I pulled the chemise off

Here an ancient oriel window opened glassless to the sky, and the light of the hunter's moon washed us in silver. We lay clasped together, damp skins cooling in the winter air, waiting for our racing hearts to slow and breath to return to our heaving bodies.

He wondered whether Jamie would shoot him in the chest or simply break his neck when he found out. Likely bare hands, he thought. It was a visceral sort of thing, sex.

Tha gràdh agam ort, mo chridhe

Diana Gabaldon

Ye can stick your comfort straight up your arse, MacKenzie, and your goddamned stiff prick, too!

INK-STAINED WRETCH

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

What the bloody hell had happened, though? How had they done it—why? He felt as though he was fevered, his mind dazed with the waves of heat that throbbed over his body. And like the half-glimpsed things in fever dreams, he saw her naked flesh, pale and shimmering with sweat in the humid night, slick under John Grey's hand Ã¢â'¬Â¦ We were both fucking you!

But the thing is—" He hesitated, then looked at me straight on, hazel-eyed and earnest. "I could do something else, and be as good. Care as much, or as little. I haven't got that absolute conviction that there's something in life I'm meant to do—

Diana Gabaldon

So now thee has doomed thy kinsman, repudiated thy father, and caused me to betray my principles. What next?!" "Oh, bloody hell," he said, and grabbed her arms, pulled her roughly to him, and kissed her. He let go and stepped back quickly, leaving her bug-eyed and gasping. The

I want you Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?

Does it ever stop? The wanting you? Even when I just left ye, I want you so much my chest feels tight and my fingers ache with wanting to touch ye again.

I'm honest enough to say that I dinna care what the right and wrong of hit may be, so long as you are here wi' me, Claire, he said softly. If it was a sin for you to choose me... then I would go to the Devil himself and bless him for tempting ye to it.