Quotes About Passion

I am for hockey. I find I should like to hit something with a stick. -Gemma Doyle Trilogy

sometimes a little crazy is all you need

A guy's gotta live, you know, gotta make his way and find his meaning in life and love, and to do that he needs coffee, he needs coffee and coffee and coffee.

He took her face into his hands and his kiss blotted out the sky

He loved her very much. She inspired his work. He used to say, 'There is no meaning but what we assign to life, and she is my meaning.

Miss McCleethy stands to address us. Thank you, Miss Bradshaw. That was a nice start to our day. A nice start? It was lovely. Perfect, in fact. Miss McCleethy has no passion at all, I decide. I shall be forced to give her two bad conduct marks in my invisible ledger.

Well, I mean, all the best people have a little beast in them.

And afterward, in the small cabin, they'd do this, this tangle of bodies, this blurring of the edges that kept people distant and lonely.

And falling for Sam Lloyd was the don't-you-dare cherry on top of a worst-idea sundae.

Isaiah thought of Memphis in love with Theta and Theta in love with Memphis, and he understood for the first time just how dangerous their love was for them. Even though they were supposed to be free, they weren't.

Corría al galope hacia la vida.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, / The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere / The ceremony of innocence is drowned; / The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity,'" Memphis quoted. "W. B. Yeats. 'The Second Coming.

Write like it matters, and it will.

There's only one way I can explain it: She had bequeathed me her love of words. She was a librarian.

It was in that tree that I learned to read, filled with the passions that can only come to the bookish, grasping, very young, bewildered by almost all of what I read, sweating in the attempt to understand a world of adults I fled from in real life but desperately wanted to join in books. (I did not connect the grown men and women in literature with the grown men and women I saw around me. They were, to me, another species.)

There are also other factors that make a person attractive to us, which have to do with what we sense we can experience with them, and how think they can enhance the quality of our life. We may feel that they have the capacity to bring more healing, passion, peace, exuberance, ease, fulfillment, or joy into our life.

God gave you the gift of passion so that you and your husband can experience intimate oneness. He also gave it to you so you could share exquisite pleasure.

You see? he asked, his voice softening to a velvety punas he felt her tremble. His warm breath stirred her hair. All I have to do is touch you. It's the same for me, Faith. I don't like this worth a damn, but by God, I want you, and we're going to do something about it.

She felt both relaxed and protected with him, at least from outside forces. Nothing, it seemed, could protect her from him, and tonight she wasn't even certain she wanted to be. Claimed, and mated. She was his, but was he hers? And if he was, what in hell did they do about it? "I don't even know what you want," she said fretfully, beginning to lose herself in rising sensation. "This," he muttered in a dark, rough tone. "You. Everything.

I'm really not hungry," she repeated, lifting the coffee cup and inhaling the fragrant steam before sipping. "Just a few bites," he cajoled, taking his own place beside her. "You need to keep up your strength for tonight." She gave him a heated, slumberous look, remembering her fantasy. "Why? Are you planning something special?" "I suppose I am," he said consideringly. "It's special every time we make love.

He needed a woman. Bad.

By morning, she was raw and sore, and knew walking would be an effort. By morning, she could barely remember what it had been like to not know his body, not to have felt him inside her and held him in her arms and absorbed the power of his thrusts as he came. By morning, she was his.

But never had he felt more enthralled than he was right now, sitting beside Evie on a weathered old dock, with a blazing afternoon sun, almost brutal in its clarity, bathing everything in pure light. Sweat trickled down his back and chest from the steamy heat, and his entire body pulsed with life. Even his fingertips throbbed. It took all of his formidable self-control to prevent himself from pushing her down on the dock and spreading her legs for his entry.

If your hero is a firefighter, your heroine better be an arsonist.