Quotes About Desire

What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

More and more life is what we want' Tennyson wrote long ago, and that is the right want. Indifference to life is disease, and therefore not strength. But the life here is only half the apple — a cut out of the apple, I should say, merely meant to suggest the perfect round of fruit — and there is in the world now

When there is no longer any growth in me, I desire to die — for one. And at present I by no means desire to die.

But the prison doors are shut close, and I could dash myself against them sometimes with a passionate impatience of the need-less captivity. I feel so intimately and from evidence, how, with air and warmth together in any fair proportion, I should be as well and happy as the rest of the world, that it is intolerable —

A woman in the West? You show me one who doesn't drink, and I'll show you one that wants to.

The harpy smiles. A harpy's smile is an ugly thing, even seen edge-on. The harpy says, You do not have the power to make me not alone, Desiree.

You burned her because your gifts come wreathed in flames, and your heart is an ember, and your breath is a star, and because you loved her and you wanted to give her everything you are

A dark-haired young woman in bright sunflower barrettes brushed by Matthew; undressing him with a look that he profoundly ignored, though he wouldn't have if he'd felt the fey iciness that a very particular, very exhausting sort of spell cloaked from both him and Kit.

The salt and blood of him filled her mouth, and now her flaws were tingling, itching too. She leaned in, purring, and he backed up a step.

What is your agenda, Don Sebastien? What is it you want of me? Of New Amsterdam?

It was an old sick power, rich and nauseous and irrestible as any unhallowed love he'd ever known. It ran shivery caresses up the inside of his skin, weighed a stone like desire in his gut and groin.

He ducked his head and kissed the tattoo of a sorcerer, nestled just between her breasts.

Just like a Conn, she thought. Eating everything in sight.

As you wish, my lady. Keep your crown, and your cruelty. Love me not. I will go.

Does a Prince of Faerie love a mortal man?" "It's not encouraged.

I chose to trust, because my hormones were surging, and I was limerent and infatuated, and I wanted with all my heart and soul to believe. In us.

Beloved," he said. "Claim me, and I will do your will. I am yours by right, through the line of your foremothers and forefathers. Only let me own you. Perceval. My darling.

How would she know, in the end, what was her desire and what was given her?

The Devil's lips hovered over Kit's, satin as rose petals, the warm brush of breath on Kit's skin and the warmth of a presence clos enough to stir the fine hairs on his cheeks.

She'll want to own whomever she names.

The Mebd's three knights flanked her chair; Will caught a glimpse of Kit's pouting lower lip below the black velvet of his mask and bit his own lip hard at an utterly inappropriate flaring of desire.

The Fae should know better than to love mortal men.

She was not prepared for Mallory to pull away before Rien thought the kiss was half finished, quickly nipping at Rien's lower lip and then pressing a finger against it. And then it was dark eyes, brown and transparent as coffee, with green and amber flecks swimming under the surface of Mallory's breath across her mouth.

Briefly, she thought of murder. Her hands itched for the wash of blood. But this was the blood she wanted.