Erik Spoelstra Quotes

She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.

My heart raced. He needs you, I thought. Don't let him down. I couldn't remember ever being so happy... or so scared.

We live in wonder, blaze in a cycle of passion and apprehension.

I think that passion if really intense is always destructive if not to the two involved, always to other people.

Now you know how much my love for you burns deep in me when I forget about our emptiness, and deal with shadows as with solid things.

You love him so much it feels like you can't go on without him. You feel like you might die without him.

love being such, or such, the normal corners of your heart will never guess how much my wonderful jealousy is dark

It's like every day is the worst day of your life. And you're trapped and you're scared and you have to portray those emotions in every take and really take yourself to those places. (about her role as an abused wife in ENOUGH.

And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It's the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.

A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal and sterile life. I have a mad impulse to smash something, a warehouse perhaps, or a cathedral, or myself, to committ outrages.

And then she frowned, and shook her head, then put her arms around him once more, pressing her face into his shoulder, making a noise that sounded almost like rage. 'What's up?' he asked. 'Nothing. Oh, nothing. Just...' She looked up at him. 'I thought I'd finally got rid of you.' 'I don't think you can.' he said

So much love, too much love, it is our madness, it is rotting us out, exploding us like dandelion polls.

The language of love letters is the same as suicide notes.

What a strange world it is where you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo. I'm talking about the real thing, the grand passion, which may not allow affection or convenience or happiness. The truth is that love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down. That's the size of it, the immensity of it. It's not proper, it's not clean, it's not containable.

Words spoken in deep love or deep hate set things in motion in the human heart that can never be reversed.

...and the most intense desire gave force to her passionate words as the girl glanced despairingly about the dreary room like a caged creature on the point of breaking loose.

You think too much.' 'I suppose I do; but I can’t help it, my mind is so terribly active. When I give myself, I give myself. I pay the penalty in my headaches, my famous headaches--a perfect circlet of pain! But I carry it as a queen carries her crown.

The act of love strongly resembles torture or surgery.

Hatred. Something almost as physical as walls, pianos, or nurses. She could almost touch the destructive energy leaking out of her body. She allowed the feeling to emerge, regardless of whether it was good or bad; she was sick of self-control, of masks, of appropriate behavior. Veronika wanted to spend her remaining two or three days of life behaving as inappropriately as she could.

Snarls and sobs show that a love affair is getting serious.

Men felt a chill in their hearts; a damp in their minds. In a desperate effort to snuggle their feelings into some sort of warmth,one subterfuge was tried after anothersentences swelled, adjectives multiplied, lyrics became epics.

Once I'm obsessed with somebody, I'm terrified of them instantly. I'm not scared of them - I'm scared of me and how I will react.

Emotions are wild horses.

What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with this extraordinary excitement? It is Clarissa, he said. For there she was.

I feel myself acting like a lunatic, but I can't stop. It would be like refusing to breathe.