Quotes About Desire

i only know how to exist when i'm wanted.

All I know of love is hunger.

Each one of us has a fire in our heart for something. It's our goal in life to find it and keep it lit.

We need beauty because it makes us ache to be worthy of it.

I try to be good but sometimes a person just has to break out and act like the wild and springy thing one used to be. It's impossible not to remember wild an want it back.

Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.

I feel the terror of idleness, like a red thirst. Death isn't just an idea.

It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.

Maybe our world will grow kinder eventually. Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.

because my life without you would be a place of parched and broken trees

What kind of life is it always to plan and do, to promise and finish, to wish for the near and the safe? Yes, by the heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want a boat I couldn't steer.

Do you think the wren ever dreams of a better house?

Doesn't anybody in the world anymore want to get up in the middle of the night and sing?

Reading, then writing, then desiring to write well, shaped in me that most joyful of circumstances—a passion for work.

It is supposed that a writer writes what he knows about and knows well. It is not necessarily so. A writer's subject may just as well, if not more likely, be what the writer longs for and dreams about, in an unquenchable dream, in lush detail and harsh honesty.

I read Jacob Boehme and am caught in his shining web. Here are Desire and Will that should be (he says) as two arms at one task; in my life they are less cooperative. Will keeps sliding away down the hill, to play when work is called for, and Desire piously wants to labor when the best season of merriment is around me. Troublemakers, both of them.

I wanted to live my life but I didn't want to do what I had to do to go on

If it is...not just one's own accomplishment that carries one from this green and mortal world--that lifts the latch and gives a glimpse into a greater paradise--then perhaps one has the sensibility: a gratitude apart from authorship, a fervor and desire beyond the margins of the self.

Did I actually reach out my arms toward it, toward paradise falling, like the fading of the dearest, wildest hope- the dark heart of the story that is all the reason for its telling?

Love is the one thing the heart craves and love is the one thing you can't steal.

Like the heron, who can only croak, who wishes he could sing, I wish I could sing. ... Each of us wears a shadow. But just now it is summer again and I am watching the lilies bow to each other, then slide on the wind and the tug of desire, close, close to one another. Soon now, I'll turn and start for home. And who knows, maybe Ill be singing.

There is still somewhere deep within you a beast shouting that the earth is exactly what it wanted --

Sometimes the desire to be lost again, as long ago, comes over me like a vapor. With growth into adulthood, responsibilities claimed me, so many heavy coats. I didn't choose them, I don't fault them, but it took time to reject them. Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness.

Like the heron, who can only croak, who wishes he could sing, I wish I could sing.