Quotes About Hunger

I am your fairy tale. Your dream. Your wishes and desires, and I am your thirst and your hunger and your food and your drink.

How can we call ourselves the land of the free when people are living on the streets and dying of hunger?

Hunger is the best cook.

If I am hungry,reality is nothing more to me than an ensemble of more or less edible things. If I am thirsty, reality is more or less liquid, and more or less potable. If I am sleepy, it is a great bed more or less hard.If I am not hungry, not thirsty, not sleepy, and do not need any other determinate thing, the world is a large ensemble of grays that are I don't know what but that certainly are not made to cheer me up.

as Lucretius wrote: 'our appetite for life is voracious, our thirst for life insatiable

Levanté los ojos al cielo, que se ponía de un color más suave y más azul con las primeras estrellas y me vino una impresión de belleza casi mística. Como un deseo de morirme allí, a un lado, mirando hacia arriba, debajo de la gran dulzura de la noche que empezaba a llegar. Y me dolió el pecho de hambre y de deseos inconfesables al respirar. Era como si estuviese oliendo un aroma de muerte y me pareciera bueno por primera vez

If I'm making a movie and get hungry, I call time-out and eat some crackers.

O Brasil precisa ser dirigido por uma pessoa que já passou fome. A fome também é professora. Quem passa fome aprende a pensar no próximo, e nas crianças.

O Brasil precisa ser dirigido por uma pessoa que já passou fome. A fome também é professora.

As Little Crow had said, 'When men are hungry, they help themselves.

What we want, of course, what lies in the cupboard marked 'important,' is connection, love: If the deepest source of human hunger had a name, that would be it; if the boxes of constraint in which so many women live could be smashed to bits, that would be the tool, the sledgehammer that shatters emptiness and uncovers the hope buried beneath it.

Things — identifiable objects, products, goals with clear labels and price tags, men you've known for five minutes — make such a handy repository for hungers, such an easy mask for other desires, and such a ready cure for the feelings of edgy discontent that emerge when other desires are either thwarted or unnamed.

At heart alcoholism feels like the accumulation of dozens of such connections, dozens of tiny fears and hungers and rages, dozens of experiences and memories that collect in the bottom of your soul, coalescing over many many many drinks into a single liquid solution.

The underlying questions of appetite, after all, are formidable — What would satisfy? How much do you need, and of what? What are the true passions, the real hungers behind the ostensible goals of beauty or slenderness?

One woman's tub of cottage cheese is another's maxed-out MasterCard; one woman's soul-murdering love affair is another's frenzied eating binge. The methods may differ, but boil any of these behaviors down to their essential ingredients and you are likely find a particularly female blend of anxiety, guilt, shame, and sorrow, the psychic roux of profound—and often profoundly misunderstood—hungers.

Love—the desire to love and be loved, to hold and be held, to give love even if your experience as a recipient has been compromised or incomplete—is the constant on the continuum of hunger, it's what links the anorexic to the garden-variety dieter, it's the persistent pulse of need and yearning behind the reach for food, for sex, for something.

A love story. Yes: this is a love story. It's about passion, sensual pleasure, deep pulls, lust, fears, yearning hungers. It's about needs so strong they're crippling. It about saying goodbye to something you can't fathom living without.

So it persists, for many of us, hunger channeled into some internal circuitry of longing, routed this way and that, emerging in a thousand different forms. The diet form, the romance form, the addiction form, the overriding hunger for this purchase or that job, this relationship or that one. Hunger may be insatiable by nature, it may be fathomless, but our will to fill it, our often blind tenacity in the face of it, can be extraordinary.

YemeÄŸin deÄŸerini verenler açl??? tadanlard?r, muhakkak.

If it ran, a Bean would eat it. If it fell, a Bean would eat it.

I'm feasting on a banquet of crumbs.

I. Am. So. Hungry.

Her face felt like it was scattered in pieces and she could not keep it straight. The feeling was a whole lot worse than being hungry for any dinner, yet it was like that. I want--I want--I want--was all that she could think about--but just what this real want was she did no know.

There was plenty for the eye to feast on, but nothing for the soul. He had a hunger for something that no sky could satisfy. Somewhere on the planet there had to be a different kind of light.