My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery—always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? Whats this passion for?
I hold that a writer who does not passionately believe in the perfectibility of man has no dedication nor any membership in literature.
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.
There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?
There is no passion to be found playing small – in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.
Politics is concerned with herds rather than with individuals, and the passions which are important in politics are, therefore, those in which the various members of a given herd can feel alike.
Passion is the sum-total of humanity. Without passion, religion, history, romance, art, would all be useless.[Also known as:]All humanity is passion; without passion, religion, history, novels, art would be ineffectual.