Quotes About Passion

It's what his muscles know, especially that largest muscle in his inventory—his soul.

Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed how far these beauties hers exceed!

What decided him (almost invariably) was a college project in which he had occasion to do some independent research—to find out things for himself. Once he discovered the pleasures of this kind of work, he never turned back. He is completely satisfied with his chosen vocation. . . . He works hard and devotedly in his laboratory, often seven days a week.

What we all desire and need from one another, of course, is that life energy called eros! It always draws, creates, and connects things.

To his surprise he...discovered that it was possible to be good at what you had little interest in, just as it had been possible to be bad at something…that you cared about a great deal.

What you can't afford to lose is precisely what the world robs you of. How it knew what you needed the most, just so it could deny you that very thing, was a question for philosophers. Answer it and you'd have the kind of book Tom Ford would've considered worth writing: urgent and new and absolutely necessary. To write it, though, you'd have to be on fire.

The drive back to the Mid-fucking-west was always brutal, his parents barely speaking to each other, as if suddenly recalling last year's infidelities, or maybe contemplating whom they'd settle for this year. Sex, if you went by Griffin's parents, definitely took a backseat to real estate on the passion gauge.

My favorite teacher in college advised me not to write a book until it was impossible not to.

It was hard to imagine him in love. I knew that he and my mother must have once felt passion, since that was what love entailed, but I was grateful that over time the madness had evolved into something more like friendship or a business partnership, something I myself could be an integral part of. Even seeing my father recollect passion was disconcerting.

Like many men addicted to sports, Clive Sr. was also a religious man.

She had always seemed to him to be deep-down wild, the wilder because she harnessed that wildness most of the time.

If you were going to be reckless in this life, you needed total commitment to the principle.

She was a full lipped and hipped italian tomato with Rome burning in her eyes. She had the look of a carnival in Rio, or Mardi Gras in New Orleans, or bullfights in Spain, or Saturday night in my apartment.

Frank Harris' My Life and Loves.

Dedicated to all those who are in love with love and have eaten in the Banyan Tree

A healthy obsession, we could say, interrogates its own driving convictions.

But still he keeps working with a will; that's the craftsman in him.

The carpenter, lab technician, and conductor are all craftsmen because they are dedicated to good work for its own sake.

Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.

Actually, you said Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you.

Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you? That I would take you there? The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube?

I had tasted what to me was life, and I would have more of it, somehow, someway.

And I'm the only one who gets to dress up! And I can't wait to wear it! It's like cotton candy!" Roo arched an eyebrow. "Sticky?" "No! All pink and fluffy and…sweet. I love the way I feel in it." "I agree," Parker said hoarsely. "I love the way you feel in it, too. And I love the way you feel out of it even better." Roo stared at him. "Wow. You should write greeting cards.

You cannot be a great writer in a shop where words are sold in tens and twenties.