Quotes About Passion

58. "Love is something so ugly that the human race would die out if lovers could see what they were doing" (Leonardo da Vinci).

We don't get to choose what or whom we love, I want to say. We just don't get to choose.

And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally incapable of loving you back? 37. Are you sure -- one would like to ask -- that it cannot love you back?

Do not, however, make the mistake of thinking that all desire is yearning.

Uno de los hombres pregunta «¿por qué azul?». La gente me pregunta eso con frecuencia. Nunca sé cómo responder. No podemos elegir qué o a quién amamos, quisiera decir. Simplemente no elegimos.

We were dancing the way people dance when they are telling each other how they want to make love.

the romance of letting an individual experience of desire take precedence over a categorical one.

Joan Mitchell—abstract painter

Agnes would like to tear it all down, rip it up, hurl it to the wind.

Dal … Dal …" Mindlessly, she whispered his name as his kisses deepened and became possessive and deliberate. But slow. Exploring. Teasing. Never quite enough. Kisses that drank desire from her mouth and left her frantic with wanting, wanting, wanting.

This time his kiss was full and provocative, summoning sensations she had believed, had hop, were submerged too deeply to be awakened. But his fingers on her face, his mouth, his lips, stirred slumbering emotions and coaxed them to life. His hands moved to cup her head, to spread across her spine, and he crushed her against him as their kisses deepened.

His lips tasted cool and sharp, peppermint, winter, but his hands, soft on the back of my neck, promised long days and summer and forever.

Sam: You—you greatly overestimate my self-control." Grace: I'm not looking for self-control.

When I was a teen, I thought I would have to choose between my writing or my music or my art, but it turns out it's a difficult juggling game but I can do all of them.

Heaven?s gate is narrow and minute,* It cannot be perceived by foolish men, Blinded by vain illusions of the world. E?en the clear-sighted, who discern the way And seek to enter, find the portal barred And hard to be unlocked. Its massive bolts Are pride and passion, avarice and lust.

Je m'étonne/ De ceux qui, connaissant l'amour, aiment encore!

She does not love you. Your metaphors thrill her you are her poet. But that's all there's to it. from "She Does Not Love You

I melt at your glances and become music.

The only paradise we know through our senses and intuition is that of the beloved, and the only hell, disappointment in love.

A poet need not trouble himself if he lies. He lies only in the matter of love, as the regions of the heart are open to tempting conquest.

They asked 'do you love her to death?' I said 'speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life.

His heart felt dangerously full, for the first time in years. That dried-up battered organ, suddenly flush with love. It could kill him.

So, what counts is that you think this is the best choice. Once you've decided that, you should chase it down with everything you've got.

Come on, hurry up and aim your .44 Magnum at my pink flowerbed. Oh, come on, let's not talk pistols when you know it's a bazooka. ?