#passion

When you can love yourself, then your heart is open to give and receive love. ↗

— Daveda Gruber

#poetrywithpassion-com #love

Oh,' said a very white body as it threw a wrist watch to the ground which broke without attracting anyone's attention, 'Oh, how can anyone not love poetry, natural machines, large white houses, the brilliance of steel, crimes and wild passions? ↗

— Robert Desnos

#passion #poetry #surrealism #love

I take my metal canister of tea off the shelf. It is my own mixture of dried lavender blossoms and lemon balm, harvested from my garden and hung in the storeroom to dry. Weed helped me hang these stalks, I think. His hands touched these tender leaves, just as they touch me. ↗

— Maryrose Wood

#love #passion #tears #love

What stirs lyrical poets to their finest flights is neither the delight of the senses nor the fruitful contentment of the settled couple; not the satisfaction of love, but its passion. And passion means suffering. ↗

— Denis de Rougemont

#passion #poets #suffering #love

Most people - and I'm guilty of it as well - think of passion as hot, fiery, impulsive. But listening to you made me realize that passion can be a deep, warm, steady flame too. The kind of fire that keeps a man warm at night - or melts an ice wall that would drown a flashier spark. ↗

— Rowan Speedwell

#passion #love

Make sure you do not have friends otherwise you have to keep them at bay." "You was my friend too!" The brow of the young side stood up with surprise and he darkened even more. His eyes stole fire. "Now I'm not?" "I do not know anymore what you are!" I admitted with pain. Gods and Guardians ↗

— Georgia Kakalopoulou

#love #passion #love

Oh, Coral, Coral,” he murmured, his one almost reproachful, but still he did not make any attempt to cross the space between them. Unspoken words and unfulfilled gestures trembled in the air. In the flickering light of the fire, his bronze skin glowed warmly. Rafe stood there very still, the muscles in his body tense. Coral knew he was waiting for her. She could feel the familiar ache, shattering the last of her control. Before she knew it, she was against him, her arms around his neck. She looked up at him, her lips parted, soft and moist. ↗

— Hannah Fielding

#passion #romance #love

Так необычайна и явна была сумасшедшая их связь, так исступлённо горели они бесстыдным полымем, людей не совестясь и не таясь, худея и чернея в лицах на глазах у соседей, что теперь на них при встречах почему-то стыдились люди смотреть. ↗

— Mikhail Sholokhov

#passion #love

Lei aveva scoperto a poco a poco l'incertezza dei passi del marito, i turbamenti d'umore, le crepe della memoria, l'abitudine recenti di singhiozzare nel sonno, ma non li aveva considerati segni inequivocabili della ruggine finale, bensì un ritorno felice all'infanzia. Per questo non lo trattava come un vecchio difficile ma come un bambino senile, e quell'inganno era stato provvidenziale per entrambi avendoli messi in salvo dalla compassione. ↗

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

#senilità #love

Really good writing has purpose and that purpose should be to shape other minds to desire truth and a more noble purpose in life and to become more thoughtful and knowledgable about important things like being kind and loving towards all living beings on our planet and not just humans but all animals. ↗

— Susan Waterfield

#existence #meaning #purpose #seeking-truth #writing