I was passionate. I found something that I loved. I could be all alone in a big old skating rink and nobody could get near me and I didn't have to talk to anybody because of my shyness. It was great. I was in my fantasy world.

Compassion alone stands apart from the continuous traffic between good and evil proceeding within us.

Well Jeff Buckley for me is one of the greatest singers I've ever heard. And the reason why is he has an amazing range amazing emotional power in his voice. And the music he put around it also just had this passion and this soul to it and this spirit to it that very few artists have and he passed at a very young age.

You can fake your age or mask it but the passion that moves the characters has to be real.

Age puzzles me. I thought it was a quiet time. My seventies were interesting and fairly serene but my eighties are passionate. I grow more intense as I age.

At my age the only problem is with remembering names. When I call everyone darling it has damn all to do with passionately adoring them but I know I'm safe calling them that. Although of course I adore them too.

Staid middle age loves the hurricane passions of opera.

The passions grafted on wounded pride are the most inveterate they are green and vigorous in old age.

Better pass boldly into that other world in the full glory of some passion than fade and wither dismally with age.

Probably the happiest period in life most frequently is in middle age when the eager passions of youth are cooled and the infirmities of age not yet begun as we see that the shadows which are at morning and evening so large almost entirely disappear at midday.