Destructive Passion Quotes

Don't wait for the good woman. She doesn't exist. There are women who can make you feel more with their bodies and their souls but these are the exact women who will turn the knife into you right in front of the crowd.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword! Some kill their love when they are young, And some when they are old; Some strangle with the hands of Lust, Some with the hands of Gold: The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold. Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.

As iron is eaten away by rust, so the envious are consumed by their own passion.

The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.

Passion is always a mystery and unaccountable, and unfortunately there is no doubt that life does not spare its purest children; often it is just the most deserving people who cannot help loving those that destroy them.

Love is madness, and lust is poison.

My pen is alight and my body aflame. Until both burn down to ash, my love and my hate will remain here in the world.

Love's Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war.

The thing to remember about love affairs," says Simone, "is that they are all like having raccoons in your chimney." ... We have raccoons sometimes in our chimney," explains Simone. And once we tried to smoke them out. We lit a fire, knowing they were there, but we hoped the smoke would cause them to scurry out the top and never come back. Instead, they caught on fire and came crashing down into our living room, all charred and in flames and running madly around until they dropped dead." Simone swallows some wine. "Love affairs are like that," she says. "They are all like that.

Benjamin Franklin in London and Thomas Jefferson in Paris searched libraries to find out why previous republics had failed. Envy, it turns out, is the most destructive social passion—more so than hatred, which is at least visible and universally recognized as evil. Envy seldom operates under its own name; it chooses a lovelier name to hide behind, and it works like a deadly invisible gas. In previous republics, it has set class against class, sections of cities against other sections, leading family against leading family. For this reason, the early Americans stood against division (“divided we fall”) and sought ways to neutralize envy.

Love is a fire/It burns everyone/It disfigures everyone/It is the world's excuse for being ugly.

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

If I showed you what was in my heart," she said, "it would burn you to a cinder. "I've tried to burn you similarly," it said, "but you never even noticed when I opened my chest.

I remember, in hot floods, the way he slept, still as death, with his face washed flat, stony as a carved tomb and exquisite. His weakness and his ravening bitter needs were terrible, and beautiful, and irresistible as an earthquake. He scalded or smothered anyone he needed, but his needing and the hurt that it caused me were the most life I have ever had. Remember what a poor thing I have always been and forgive me.

When their love was not reciprocated, it could quickly turn to violent hatred.

Each man kills the thing he loves.

It's an old story, really: seduced and corrupted, in the end, by an obsessive love for the text.

I have an object, a task, let me say the word, a passion. The profession of writing is a violent and almost indestructible one.

Cartooning will destroy you; it will break your heart.

But who can describe the overweening pride of men? Or women mad with passion, reckless in their hearts, soulmates to every kind of ruin that befalls us? Wild passion, unrestrained, boundless, that overcomes the women, perverts the yoke of wedlock for beasts and men alike.

Love is a religion, and its rituals cost more than those of other religions. It goes by quickly and, like a street urchin, it likes to mark its passage by a trail of devastation.

You are my hand grenade, my artillery fire. You have replaced my heart with yourself.

Great sport begins at a point where it has ceased to be healthy.

It happens to people. People ruin things they love! I'm sure the guy who played Jar Jar Binks loved 'Star Wars.'