When I was twelve, my sixth-grade English class went on a field trip to see Franco Zeffirelli’s film adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. From that moment forward I dreamed that someday I’d meet my own Juliet. I’d marry her and I would love her with the same passion and intensity as Romeo. The factthat their marriage lasted fewer than three days before they both were deaddidn’t seem to affect my fantasy. Even if they had lived, I don’t think theirrelationship could have survived. Let’s face it, being that emotionally aflame, sexually charged, and transcendentally eloquent every single second can really start to grate on a person’s nerves. However, if I could find someone to love just a fraction of the way that Montague loved his Capulet, then marrying her would be worth it.
To regain your lost years, you must make sure that any activity targeted at attaining your goal must be done with the qualities of intensity, speed and focus
The Friday before winter break, my mom packed me an overnight bag and a few deadly weapons and took me to a new boarding school.
Is he following? Can you have a flaming gay moment or something and check?Why do I have to be the flaming gay one?
From the moment of my birth, I lived with pain at the center of my life. My only purpose in life was to find a way to coexist with intense pain.
Being deeply, passionately, and intensely in love is being deeply, passionately, and intensely in life.
The two of us in that room. No past, no future. All intense deep that-time-only. A feeling that everything must end, the music, ourselves, the moon, everything. That if you get to the heart of things you find sadness for ever and ever, everywhere; but a beautiful silver sadness, like a Christ face.
Insatiable is my desire for you, Insane is my love you,Limitless are my boundaries for you, True are my feelings for you,Wildest are my imaginations for you, Intense is my passion for you,Soul is my offering for you, Commitment is my promise to you
Of course I need you. I go insane when I see you. You can do almost anything you wish with me. Is that what you want to hear? Almost, Dominique. And the things you couldn't make me do — you could put me through hell if you demanded them and I had to refuse you, as I would. Through utter hell, Dominique. Does that please you? Why do you want to know whether you own me? It's so simple. Of course you do. All of me that can be owned. You'll never demand anything else. But you want to know whether you could make me suffer. You could. What of it? The words did not sound like surrender, because they were not torn out of him, but admitted simply and willingly. She felt no thrill of conquest; she felt herself owned more than ever, by a man who could say these things, know them to be true, and still remain controlled and controlling — as she wanted him to remain.
life - your gunna meet some two faced people, some bosses that make your soul cringe, some places you wished you'd never walked into... But then you'll grow, you'll learn that your gut instinct isn't nieve, your boss can ' fuck it' because your dreams are more important and the places you walked into unaware of chaos, will bring you to places of perfect peace. Hold on, the struggle won't last forever.
I missed talking to you, and playing with you, and touching you, and seeing you smile. I missed just … sitting next to you. I’ve never missed anyone or anything that much
I feel a flash of grief so intense it almost makes me cry out: not for what I lost, but for the chances I missed.
The war has changed you, too, Caroline. Your faith is stronger, your compassion deeper, your love more intense than ever before. It's as if all the qualities I saw in you and fell in love with have been refined and purified.
I’m . . . accustomed to being alone. There are times when alone is the best place to be. I enjoy my own company.
The thing that I’m most likely to collapse under is not the weight of the stresses that stand around me, but the ego that sits within me.
If you’re supposed to work with someone, I’d recommend not getting all hot and bothered with them the night before. The word of the day was “tense.
I found lines that mirrored an ache and longing I had so often felt when the beauty around my woods cathedral was too intense, when the need to grasp and keep loveliness left me with a sense of desolate frustration.
I always say that anybody who’s single ― like Sara ― their love is the most intense love. The heartbreak they’re enduring is the most intense heartbreak. We cannot understand what Sara’s going through. When it’s love, it’s my love, you can’t understand it. You can’t compare. But I really related to where Sara was on this record. When she was writing these songs and coming to me like: You don’t understand, I was like: You’re right, but I also do.
You have always been my only muse. I cannot paint or sculpt. I have only my words to render your likeness. Sometimes I wish I were both God and Adam so I could tear out my rib and create you from my own flesh. I would say I’d create you from my heart, but I gave that to you when you left me. But that’s a cliché, isn’t it? Sadly, that’s all I have these days. The whole story is a cliché. I desired you. I ate of you. I lost you. That ancient story – older than the Garden, old as the Snake. I would have liked to call this story of ours The Temptation but the word temptation, once the province of pious theologians, has now been co-opted by every third second-rate romance novelist. And although I loved you, my beautiful girl, this is not a romance novel.
Each and every decision you make, regardless of its level of intensity, is vitally important as you seek to do God’s will.
I love her passionately with a morbid intensity; madly as one can only love a woman who never responds to our love with anything but an eternally uniform, eternally calm, stony smile.
Someone has to be stoic, for the sake of, in spite of, and in the face of all those who are, not. Someone, has to be serious. Someone has to choose to forgo choice, so that there is an option left for others to consider. Everyone can't be, someone.
How good would Flynn be in bed – a real bed, with crisp, clean sheets? She’d seen and handled enough of his body to create a solid mental picture of him naked. Very solid. Honed, strong, with a dusting of blond hair on his tanned chest and maybe a few tattoos. Long muscular legs, a sculpted butt, a narrow waist sliding into a broad back that would undulate under her fingers as he moved against her.
It’s your hero complex, isn’t it? You should see someone about that.” “Right after I get my head examined.
Her biggest fear was that Flynn would walk away before she could even start to worry about him not coming home.
Look.” He stepped closer, his voice lowered to a gruff murmur, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze – which just made her want to stretch up and kiss him.
His attention. Sweet and intense at the same time. Like a barley sugar I could untwist from its plastic and hold in my mouth. A flood of secret pleasure.