Quotes About Passion

Why do we write? A chorus erupts. Because we cannot simply live.

Writing is not some quiet, closet act.

He contained, even at an early age, a stirring and the desire to stir.

He wasn't certain whether he was a good or bad person. Whether he was altruistic. Whether he was demonic. But he was certain of one thing. He was an artist. And for that he would never apologize.

It was February 14 and I was about to give my heart to a perfect cup of coffee.

I didn't mind the misery of a vocation but I dreaded not being called

To achieve within the work a perfect balance of faith and execution. From this state of mind comes a light, life-charged.

All writers are bums...

I knew he didn't love me, but I adored him anyway

Suddenly he looked up and said, "Patti, did art get us?" I looked away, not really wanting to think about it. "I don't know, Robert. I don't know." Perhaps it did, but no one could regret that. Only a fool would regret being had by art; or a saint.

I had no proof that I had the stuff to be an artist, though I hungered to be one. I imagined that I felt the calling and prayed that it be so.

Love is an angel disguised as lust.

I was no actress; I drew no line between life and art.

How could I have nothing to read? Perhaps it wasn't a lack of a book but a lack of obsession.

Cuándo deja algo de ser hermoso, un aspecto fiel del corazón, para convertirse en algo desviado, ligeramente apartado del eje, y después precipitarse en un vacío obsesivo?

If you're looking to find a career that makes a difference - and work you really love - this book will show you how.

All creative people need something to rebel against, it's what gives their lives excitement, and it's creative people who make the clients' lives exciting.

Surely it is an odd way to spend your life - sitting alone in a room with a pen in your hand, hour after hour, day after day, year after year, struggling to put words on pieces of paper in order to give birth to what does not exist, except in your head. Why on earth would anyone want to do such a thing? The only answer I have ever been able to come up with is: because you have to, because you have no choice.

Writing is a solitary business. It takes over your life. In some sense, a writer has no life of his own. Even when he's there, he's not really there.

once you fell in love with her, you loved her until the day you died.

To care about words, to have a stake in what is written, to believe in the power of books - this overwhelms the rest, and beside it one's life becomes very small.

Then, without any warning, we both straightened up, turned towards each other, and began to kiss. After that, it is difficult for me to speak of what happened. Such things have little to do with words, so little, in fact, that it seems almost pointless to try to express them. If anything, I would say that we were falling into each other, that we were falling so fast and so far that nothing could catch us.

For several years Quinn had been having the same conversations with this man, whose name he did not know. Once, when he had been in the luncheonette, they had talked about baseball, and now, each time Quinn came in, they continued to talk about it. In the winter, the talk was of trades, predictions, memories. During the season, it was always the most recent game. They were both Mets fans, and the hopelessness of that passion had created a bond between them.

You can't hate something so violently unless a part of you also loves it.