Passion is the mob of the man, that commits a riot upon his reason.
Young men have a passion for regarding their elders as senile.
As iron is eaten away by rust, so the envious are consumed by their own passion.
A taste for truth at any cost is a passion which spares nothing.
The passion for destruction is also a creative passion.
A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.
We spend our lives, all of us, waiting for the great day, the great battle, or the deed of power. But that external consummation is not given to many: nor is it necessary. So long as our being is tensed, directed with passion, towards that which is the spirit of all things, then that spirit will emerge from our own hidden, nameless effort.
But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.
Liberty is a great celestial Goddess, strong, beneficent, and austere, and she can never descend upon a nation by the shouting of crowds, nor by arguments of unbridled passion, nor by the hatred of class against class.
The only passion that guides me is for the truth… I look at everything from this point of view.