People believe they understand passion. They don’t.
Passion consumes, enough that it should frighten you. It borders on dangerous obsession. Passion inspires actions you’d have thought beyond you, it awakens impulses within you that, to one who didn’t understand passion, seem profoundly disturbing.
Take you, for example. You don’t understand passion. Sitting there, three seats ahead of me on the bus downtown, as you do Monday to Friday, reading your Oprah book club novel, as you do whenever Oprah endorses a book. When you finish your page, you’ll lick your thumb before you turn it.
You don‘t understand.