Quotes About Passion

Love is an irresistable desire to be irresistably desired.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.

I believe it is in my nature to dance by virtue of the beat of my heart, the pulse of my blood and the music in my mind.

I would rather live and love where death is king than have eternal life where love is not.

I admit that reason is a small and feeble flame, a flickering torch by stumblers carried in the star-less night, -- blown and flared by passion's storm, -- and yet, it is the only light. Extinguish that, and nought remains.

You are not writing properly unless someone is bleeding, probably you.

Writers are different," said Waldegrave. "I've never met one who was any good who wasn't screwy.

Nutters love murder.

Jacobean revenge tragedies,

The roar of the crowd had thundered through both fighters' veins like a second pulse. Strike

She now understood the potencial for loneliness that came with a single, driving passion

And he was her very first and it was obvious, you know . . . he knew what he was doing, so it was all that much more important to her. Mad in love, she was. Mad .

she now understood the potential for loneliness that came with a single, driving passion.

I know not what can ease my pains, Nor what it is I wish; The passion at my heart-strings strains Like a tiger in a leash.

know not what can ease my pains, Nor what it is I wish; The passion at my heart-strings strains Like a tiger in a leash.

My business is not a stepping stone to 'better' things, but a lifestyle choice and a way of work uniquely crafted to fit and finance the way I live. As a result, work is not a Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 endeavour. Instead, my weekdays are a joyous mix of family, friends and office time. Ditto my weekends, actually.

I think kissing is what separates us from the animals and makes us divine.

Every exchange making him feel like an idiot, making him draw his spine up straight and making him fiddle with his hair, and all he wanted to do was to see her naked on the floor. Not brutal, not unkind, enraptured.

desire had its exaggerated and dramatic pleasures, but he was bored by the endless scenes and recantations. Love was simply the same steady heartbeat hour after hour. It bored him with its lack of event.

He wanted to slice her open and lie inside the warm blood of her body.

He loved her so much he felt his bones would break. Loving her was like lying in a bed of nettles, and the feel of her skin against his was the only balm, the only time the stinging stopped, while, for her, he was the warm bath she took to stave off the cold waterfall of Boaty's indifference.

In order to acheive you must dream, to dream you must desire, to desire you must love.