'Wuthering Heights' is portrayed as a great romantic novel, and when I read it again, I thought, 'How is this romantic? All these people are horrible to each other!'
Violent passions are formed in solitude. In the busy world no object has time to make a deep impression.
I fell in love at 14 and I remember that mad, tense feeling and all the mad things you do for the person - all those extremes and all the stuff you don't mind putting up with.
I was crazily, deeply, incredibly, joyously, terrifiedly in love.
All those emotions spanning from intense love, intense frustration, intense jealously, all those feelings are red.
...I prefer not to have among my guests two people or more, of any sex, who are in the first wild tremours of love. It is better to invite them after their new passion has settled, has solidified into a quieter reciprocity of emotions. (It is also a waste of good food, to serve it to new lovers.)
Love and hatred are not blind, but are blinded by the fire they bear within themselves.
People often are unsure whether or not they are in love, but they generally know whether or not they are having sex.
For this was the round of love: fear which leads on desire, tenderness and fury, and that brutal anguish which triumphantly follows pleasure.
At the heart of all romanticism is suffering.
You'll have to learn to control your emotions. They're new, like achild's now, bursting with passion. Never let them fade, or part of you will die. But they cal also destroy you. Hold them dear, but don't let them take hold of you.
The most violent passions sometimes leave us at rest, but vanity agitates us constantly.
There will always be romance in the world so long as there are young hearts in it.
True love, especially first love, can be so tumultuous and passionate that it feels like a violent journey.
The Green-eyed Monster causes much woe, but the absence of this ugly serpent argues the presence of a corpse whose name is Eros.
Love is a fiend, a fire, a heaven, a hell Where pleasure, pain, and sad repentance dwell
It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances. It sports a mosaic of passions like a peacock’s tail, It soars to the sky with delight, it quests, Oh wildly, it dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances.
For the most part you are dealing with jealousy, you are dealing with love, you're dealing with hatred, you are dealing with revenge and all of these sort of classic things.
If jealousy was the vindaloo of love, I'd imagined her tongue burning, and such a fire forcing her to spill her truth.
Love is a volcano, the crater of which no wise man will approach too nearly, lest ... he should be swallowed up.
All great amusements are dangerous to the Christian life; but among all those which the world has invented there is none more to be feared than the theater. It is a representation of the passions so natural and so delicate that it excites them and gives birth to them in our hearts, and, above all, to that of love.
It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his object.
Love. Of course, love. Flames for a year, ashes for thirty.
In all warm-blooded creatures, which are the highest evolved and have feelings, passions and emotions, which reach outward into the world with desire, which may be said to really live in the fuller meaning of the term and not merely vegetate - in all such creatures, the currents of the desire body flow outward from the liver.
There's nothing in this world so sweet as love. And next to love the sweetest thing is hate.
