Adrenaline Rush Love Quotes

I carried the books to my room and read through the night. I loved the fiery pages of Mary Wollstonecraft, but there was a single line written by John Stuart Mill that, when I read it, moved the world: "It is a subject on which nothing final can be known." The subject Mill had in mind was the nature of women. Mill claimed that women have been coaxed, cajoled, shoved and squashed into a series of feminine contortions for so many centuries, that it is now quite impossible to define their natural abilities or aspirations. Blood rushed to my brain; I felt an animating surge of adrenaline, of possibility, of a frontier being pushed outward. Of the nature of women, nothing final can be known. Never had I found such comfort in a void, in the black absence of knowledge. It seemed to say: whatever you are, you are woman.

The idea that their paths might have easily not crossed leaves her breathless, like a near-miss accident on a highway, and she can't help marveling at the sheer randomness of it all. Like any survivor of chance, she feels a quick rush of thankfulness, part adrenaline and part hope.

He recognized her immediately when he saw her again. And what he recognized was her energy, which seemed to precede her. As if her spirit were thrusting itself forward, into the unknown; dazzled, charmed, challenged, hopeful, happy to be energized by the mysterious, loving the adrenaline rush of surprise.

I suck thoughtfully on the word “temporary". It could be my time with him is as temporary as hair dye, or an adrenaline rush. I decide I’ll take either one.

Because from my personal experience, Dylan, falling in love with you is like jumping out of an airplane with no parachute. It's fun as hell, a rush of adrenaline, until the inevitable crash comes where you leave and my heart splatters all over the ground.

Is six a.m. too early to watch The Bachelor and mock all the giggly, desperate women?" "Go for it. Though I bet it'd work better as a drinking game," Laurel said. "One shot for the flirty arm touch. Chug if they strip and bum-rush the pool." Anne hit play. "Like they'd get their hair wet." Laurel stared at the screen, laughed at Anne's comments but felt another weird pang upset her insides. "Would you say this show makes something incredibly complex--you know, relationships--into something mind-numbingly vapid? Or does it make something actually rather simple into a big fucking circus?" "Both. That's why I love it." "I couldn't stand competing for a man like that," Laurel murmured. "I don't have the right...programming for it. Like to fight like that. Some people get an adrenaline rush and they're like foosh, give me somebody to beat down. I just, like curl up into a ball and want to hide." "I'm somewhere in the middle," Anne said. "I'm like a ninja. I'll like, come out of my shadowy hiding space and beat you down, bitches. You won't even see me.

I'm not engineer educated, but I am an adrenaline junkie. Demolition derbies, drag racing, driving fast--when I gave them up, I tried to think of something I could do to replace them, something that would give me that rush. I love the thrill of impending, weightless doom, so I built something to give me those feelings all the time." As he stands, hands on hips, nodding at the Blue Flash, I think about impending, weightless doom. It's a phrase I like and understand. I tuck it away in the corner of my mind to pull out later, maybe for a song. I say, "You may be the most brilliant man I have ever met." I like the idea of something that can give you those feelings all the time. I want something like that, and then I look at Violet and think: .

Reality is hard to see through the adrenaline rush of a new love. It’s easy to project your hopes and dreams onto a relationship when it’s new and exciting, but the truth is that it is only in knowing who you are at your core and staying true to yourself that you can possibly see the difference between passion and real love.

I loved them. True, I was scared to death getting on the damn thing. But once the pilot took off and we were in the air, I was hooked. It was a tremendous adrenaline rush—you’re low and fast. It’s awesome. The momentum of the aircraft keeps you in place; you don’t even feel any wind buffeting. And hell—if you fall, you’ll never feel a thing.

No one understands me but I am cool with that. I was different from others. I knew this from when I was young. Things that turned people off normally about violence and death did the exact opposite with me. For when I was a small boy, death always intrigued me. I loved watching things die. Watching life leave someone's eyes was an adrenaline rush.

She is mad, but she brings out the adrenaline rushing out of your body.

THE URGENCY ADDICTION Some of us get so used to the adrenaline rush of handling crises that we become dependent on it for a sense of excitement and energy. How does urgency feel? Stressful? Pressured? Tense? Exhausting? Sure. But let’s be honest. It’s also sometimes exhilarating. We feel useful. We feel successful. We feel validated. And we get good at it. Whenever there’s trouble, we ride into town, pull out our six shooter, do the varmint in, blow the smoke off the gun barrel, and ride into the sunset like a hero. It brings instant results and instant gratification. We get a temporary high from solving urgent and important crises. Then when the importance isn’t there, the urgency fix is so powerful we are drawn to do anything urgent, just to stay in motion. People expect us to be busy, overworked. It’s become a status symbol in our society—if we’re busy, we’re important; if we’re not busy, we’re almost embarrassed to admit it. Busyness is where we get our security. It’s validating, popular, and pleasing. It’s also a good excuse for not dealing with the first things in our lives. “I’d love to spend quality time with you, but I have to work. There’s this deadline. It’s urgent. Of course you understand.” “I just don’t have time to exercise. I know it’s important, but there are so many pressing things right now. Maybe when things slow down a little.

As she waited for the applause to subside, she thought of the statistic that said people feared public speaking more than they feared death. She loved it. She enjoyed all of the concatenated moments of presenting in front of a listening audience—teaching, performing, telling a story, teeing up a heated debate. She also loved the adrenaline rush. The bigger the stakes, the more sophisticated or hostile the audience, the more the whole experience thrilled her.

There’s an adrenaline rush that comes with denying the common rules of society: that I should always be trying to lose weight, that I should always be unhappy with some flaw. To say I am perfectly content with my body and all the parts that assemble it is nothing less than radical.

Scrambling to his feet, he saw Amber in her vampire gown rushing toward him. He felt her long nails rip down his cheek as he sidestepped and swung the bat with all his might. Her pale face exploded as the side of her head caved in from the blow. He saw the fury in her remaining eye as she struggled to her feet with her bloody claws groping. A vicious downward swipe took out the other eye, and she crumpled in a bloody heap at his feet. With his adrenalin flowing like a river through his sinews, he caught the first wolf in midair with a bone crushing upward thrust as the beast’s gnashing grisly teeth opened to grip his throat in a death lock. When he looked down at the wolf’s battered head, he saw the open eyes of his son Kyle staring up at him. The horror of the son’s face startled him awake. The forest and the monsters had disappeared. He found himself in the upstairs hall of his home on Loving Forest Court amid the twisted, battered remains of his wife and children still swinging the bloody, baseball bat.

His hands go to my waist—my waist! And they feel so right. I like this closeness. Maybe I like it too much. A guy has never been this close to me. Never. And I can’t believe it’s happening, even if it is to keep from being arrested. My heart beats frantically. Isaiah is hot and scary and hot. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be anywhere near a girl like me? It’s the adrenaline rush. That’s what it is. I like how he feels because I’m still experiencing the adrenaline rush from Isaiah’s NASCAR driving skills. His arm shifts, and I love how that movement causes his muscles to flex. Stop it, Rachel. It’s not real. Focus.

From the moment I had first understood that my brother Richard was a boy and I was a girl, I had wanted to exchange his future for mine. My future was motherhood; his, fatherhood. They sounded similar but they were not. To be one was to be a decider. To preside. To call the family to order. To be the other was to be among those called. I knew my yearning was unnatural. This knowledge, like so much of my self-knowledge, had come to me in the voice of people I knew, people I loved. All through the years that voice had been with me, whispering, wondering, worrying. that i was not right. That my dreams were perversions. That voice had many timbres, many tones. Sometimes it was my father's voice; more often it was my own. I carried the books to my room and read through the night. I loved the fiery pages of Mary Wollstonecraft, but there was a single line written by John Stuart Mill that, when I read it, moved the world: "It is a subject on which nothing final can be known." The subject Mill had in mind was the nature of women. Mill claimed that women have been coaxed, cajoled, shoved and squashed into a series of feminine contortions for so many centuries, that it is now quite impossible to define their natural abilities or aspirations. Blood rushed to my brain; I felt an animating surge of adrenaline, of possibility, of a frontier being pushed outward. Of the nature of women, nothing final can be known. Never had I found such comfort in a void, in the black absence of knowledge. It seemed to say: whatever you are, you are woman.

Americans struggle with silence.  It seems we must have the radio blaring in the car or a TV on in the house, even if no one is watching.  We can't handle solitude very well.  Yet, solitude is the one thing a deer hunter craves and anticipates.  There are a few times when the woods get so quiet you feel like you are the only living creature around.  It's life-changing!  People are most like themselves in nature.  You can get down to the real you—no veneer, no facade, no masquerade— and it is there that God can do wonders on us.  I like thinking of it as an anesthetic that puts everything to sleep so that surgery can take place. Jesus knew the power of time alone with God, and we also need to know it — by experience.  He would often slip away (Luke 5:16).  The disciples would awaken, look around, and discover that Jesus was gone.  He loved the early morning moments before the world came alive and began buzzing with activity (Mark 1:35-39).  He knew that soon everyone would wipe the sleep out of their eyes, and He would be in high demand.  So, He placed high priority on those private, devoted moments, in order to escape and be alone with His Father.  He didn’t just squeeze in prayer and meditation between all His preaching and miracles.  Someone once said, “Jesus went from place of prayer to place of prayer with teaching and miracles in between.”  I like that.               Those who hunt know the adrenaline rush caused by the crunching leaves as a whitetail slowly approaches.  There is also such a surge when the word of God is read.  I hope you will enjoy both as you read this book.  My greatest satisfaction would be to know that you have found yourself a quiet place to read this book and contemplate the spiritual lessons in it.  When you have even more time, get your Bible and turn to the passages cited and read them more fully.  It will deepen your understanding.

We are earthbound creatures, Maggie had thought. No matter how tempting the sky. No matter how beautiful the stars. No matter how deep the dream of flight. We are creatures of the earth. Born with legs, not wings, legs that root us to the earth, and hands that allow us to build our homes, hands that bind us to our loved ones within those homes. The glamour, the adrenaline rush, the true adventure, is here, within these homes. The wars, the detente, the coups, the peace treaties, the celebrations, the mournings, the hunger, the sating, all here.

You say doctors will make the best poets. They will search your emotions by the skin; cutting open to reveal and revel with surgical precison. They will play with heavy drugs and blades-- nothing shall hide beneath the armors of bone and muscle. They know the anatomy of the heart too well. They will find the things you have hidden in your chest. I say doctors will never be poets. They are too mechanical, too fast with their edges and ridges. They cannot see the pain as pain but merely as an anomaly. That sadness is black bile not melancholia. They cannot sing to you but only clammer in medical jargon. Poets will use their imperfect words, and perfect rhymes to find the secrets of your rib cage with ease. They will find every flaw of your broken body and make it the best story you've never heard. Doctors, they will put love to define as a momentary rush of adrenaline, an arrythmia for another human caused due to an imbalance of the heart rhythm. Poets will tell you that love is the first jolt of life for them. They will say love is a state of euphoria that takes those irregular rhythms to perfect symphonies. Doctors say that veins carry blood devout of oxygen. I say that they carry your broken emotions to their feelings factory to mend it within its beautiful catacombs. All those doctors will find and fix you with perfect solutions. And these poets will do their best to be your perfect solution. For Aarshia. I am to be a doctor with a poet's heart.

What was love anyway, except a biological trick? It was larger doses of hormones like oxytocin and dopamine, which delivered a euphoric rush. It was lower levels of serotonin, which induced anxiety and made you focus obsessively on the object of your “love.” It was elevated levels of adrenaline and norepinephrine making your heart flutter and your palms sweat. She liked Joe and he liked her. The rest was a temporary chemical imbalance.

I loved the fiery pages of Mary Wollstonecraft, but there was a single line written by John Stuart Mill that, when I read it, moved the world: “It is a subject on which nothing final can be known.” The subject Mill had in mind was the nature of women. Mill claimed that women have been coaxed, cajoled, shoved and squashed into a series of feminine contortions for so many centuries, that it is now quite impossible to define their natural abilities or aspirations. Blood rushed to my brain; I felt an animating surge of adrenaline, of possibility, of a frontier being pushed outward. Of the nature of women, nothing final can be known. Never had I found such comfort in a void, in the black absence of knowledge. It seemed to say: whatever you are, you are woman.

There are two special moments in a day i love the most The moment Before i wake up, the feeling of existment and happinesse like a little kid, the rush of adrenaline into my body, the beating of my heart so fast, and the feeling of your arms upon my chest, and then the whisper of my heart " is hse real or are we still dreaming". the end of the day, i crave you like an addict to drugs Missing your beatiful face, the way you smile, the way you look at me Missing the sound of your voice, the way you smell, your soft skin Missing how your body shakes when my lips touch your skin. Me

When you find yourself strongly attracted to someone, what do you experience? Your knees go weak, your mouth goes dry, you get a funny feeling in the pit in your stomach, your pupils dilate. Adrenaline is rushing through your system. These are the body’s responses to fear! The attraction of special love is the attraction to fear. We’re climbing on board a roller coaster, but there’s no guarantee that the ride will be safe. Attraction and the fear of its loss are simultaneous. “What if he/she doesn’t like me?” Scarier still, “what if they do? What then?

like spinning. She had cried so hard that she was completely drained and powerless to cry anymore. Her face looked terrible, her eyes swollen and red when she reached her house, and to her surprise, Jonah was already there. For a while, she was clearly in shock. She felt that her dizzy mind was seeing things, but then she pinched herself and Jonah was actually there in front of her. His presence gave a sudden boost to Rachel’s body, heart and mind. It was like an adrenaline rush. She

I’m going to do better than that.’ An adrenalin rush of determination accompanied her words. ‘I’m going to find out why he is the way he is, and make his life better.

My heart threatens to erratically beat right out of my chest at the rush of adrenaline that comes from finally kissing the man I’ve been in love with for years.

It's hard to love a second home as much as the first.' I swallow. 'It's easy when the second home is the right one.' And that is what the Riders Quadrant has become to me- the right home. The longing for the kind of peace and solitude I found only here can't match the adrenaline rush of flight.

Happiness is elusive and protean. And it is sterile when devoid of meaning. But meaning, when it is set in the vast arena of war with its high stakes, it’s adrenaline-driven rushes, it’s bold sweeps and drama, is heartless and self-destructive. The initial selflessness of war mirrors that of love, the chief emotion war destroys. And this is what war often looks and feels like, at it’s inception: love.

On quickly climbing shaky stairs, I am not afraid of what might be up there, the upper unknown, on the contrary, i love it, I love the adrenaline rush climbing each stair. Satirically, The fear of the unknown can probably be overridden by love, happiness, and knowledge.

You were a total stranger, and I allowed you to do more than simply aid me,” he teased, his mouth warm against the corner of hers. “In fact, you gave me all sorts of interesting ideas on how you could further aid me.” “I did not. As I recall, I told you I was your doctor, nothing more, and you would not listen to me. You know, Jacques, that’s a very bad habit of yours, not listening to me.” His mouth wandered back to her ear, his breath stirring her blood. “I promise to remedy the situation as soon as humanly possible,” he whispered with a sorcerer’s magic. Shea could feel his breath right down to her toes. Then she saw an ugly slash wound marring his shoulder. She lowered her mouth to heal it and tasted the unique flavor that was Jacques. She felt his involuntary response and deliberately squirmed closer, bringing her body right up against his. She tasted his essence, she tasted the adrenaline, the primitive joy of battle, she tasted his pain. “Humanly possible, huh?” she mused. “I don’t know if I like the way you put that. It seems to me you’ll be able to get around that one fairly easily.” Shea circled his neck with her arms and pulled his head down to hers. Blindly, unerringly, she found his mouth with hers. She put everything into her kiss, her love, her fear, her acceptance of his ways. Her desire for him, her need of him, all of it rushed from her to him. Jacques’ arms tightened possessively. His mouth was hungry against hers, needing to feed on her sweetness, her purity, to wipe out the remnants of the lingering demon. Her body was plaint and welcoming, her mouth as hungry as his. He flung his clothes in every direction and moved to gather her even closer. He felt her shift her weight, felt them both teeter, and then they were tumbling into the pool beneath them.

What changed your mind?” “I never changed my mind.” Stitch grunted as he threw the bag as far as he could into the black water. Zak sighed, rushed toward him, and pulled him away from the shore. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the water getting rough in the moonlight as reptiles crept closer in the darkness, ready for some fresh meat. “Will you come back home with me?” he uttered, cold sweat sliding down his back. Stitch took a deep breath and held onto Zak’s hand. “If you’ll have me,” he whispered. “This was such a shit day, wasn’t it?” Zak squeezed his hand tightly with a shuddery sigh. A man who had trembled with pleasure in his bed turned into gator feed, and Zak was choosing to betray him. The death could still be discovered, they could still be charged with murder, but he was determined to keep himself in one piece. “I just want to kiss you so badly.” Stitch bowed down to him and gave the kiss Zak so deeply craved. His soft, warm lips were somehow making all the black thoughts flee into the depths of Zak’s mind. “I can’t please everyone.” His voice was so weak it was getting lost in the sounds of splashing water and buzzing insects. Zak pushed himself against Stitch and gasped as adrenaline shot into his brain. Stitch’s scent was sharper than ever, spiked with all the stress and fear of the passing day. “I love you.” “I know, I love you too.” Stitch kissed Zak’s lips once more and stroked the side of his head. “Let’s go home.

When Mom told me not to do something, I did it anyway. The thrill of the adventure, the adrenaline rush and the escape trumped all consequences and there were always consequences because no matter how quiet, sneaky and brillant I thought I was, I couldn’t outsmart Mom.