Quotes About Desire

I burn with no causes

No tengo lo que quería, eso es verdad, pero quiero lo que tengo.

If you act only on what you should do without heed for what you want to do, you're nothing more than a machine, a phenomenon.

Alles ist zu einem einzigen, riesigen Wettbewerb mutiert, der sich Leben nennt, bei dem niemand weiß, was der Preis ist, aber jeder weiß, dass er gewinnen will

About the only time losing is more fun than winning is when you're fighting temptation.

Worship and spiritual hunger make you so attractive to God that your circumstances cease to matter anymore. He will move heaven and earth to find a worshiper. When you begin to worship with all your being and desire, your heart turns Him toward you. You capture His attention and attracts His affection.

Whatever impresses you attracts you. Whatever you purse becomes your purpose.

He's looking for people who are hot after His heart. He wants a Church of Davids who are after His own heart3 (not just His hand). You can seek for His blessing and play with His toys, or you can say, "No, Daddy, I don't just want the blessings; I want You. I want You to come close. I want You to touch my eyes, touch my heart, touch my ears, and change me, Lord. I'm tired of me the way I am, because if I can change, then the cities can change too.

people don't want doctrine, they don't want tracts, and they don't want our feeble arguments; they just want Him! (When will we learn that if people can be argued into the faith, then they can just as easily be argued out of it as well?)

To get to a place where you could love anything you chose--not to need permission for desire--well now _that_ was freedom.

She had been looking all along for a friend, and it took her a while to discover that a lover was not a comrade and could never be - for a woman. And that no one would ever be that version of herself which she sought to reach out to and touch with an ungloved hand. There was only her own mood and whim, and if that was all there was, she decided to turn the naked hand toward it, discover it and let others become as intimate with their own selves as she was.

I wrote my first novel because I wanted to read it.

How exquisitely human was the wish for permanent happiness, and how thin human imagination became trying to achieve it.

I had only one desire: to dismember it. To see of what it was made, to discover the dearness, to find the beauty, the desirability that had escaped me, but apparently only me.

You looked at me then like you knew me, and I thought it really was Eden, and I couldn't take your eyes in because I was loving the hoof marks on your cheeks.

Here was an ugly little girl asking for beauty....A little black girl who wanted to rise up out of the pit of her blackness and see the world with blue eyes. His outrage grew and felt like power. For the first time he honestly wished he could work miracles.

I'm me, she whispered. Me Nel didn't know quite what she meant, but on the other hand she knew exactly what she meant. I'm me. I'm not their daughter. I'm not Nel. I'm me. Me. Every time she said the word me there was a gathering in her like power, like joy, like fear. Back in bed with her discovery, she stared out the window at the dark leaves of the horse chestnut. Me, she murmured. And then, sinking deeper into the quilts, I want... I want to be... wonderful. Oh, Jesus, make me wonderful.

Each night, without fail, she prayed for blue eyes. Fervently, for a year she had prayed. Although somewhat discouraged, she was not without hope. To have something as wonderful as that would take a long, long time.

I told you again that you were the reason Adam ate the apple and its core. That when he left Eden, he left a rich man. Not only did he have Eve, but he had the taste of the first apple in the world in his mouth for the rest of his life.

I didn't even know his name. And if I didn't know his name then there is nothing I did know and I have known nothing ever at all since the one thing I wanted was to know his name so how could he help but leave me since he was making love to a woman who didn't even know his name.

Milkman could hardly breathe. Hagar's voice scooped up what little pieces of heart he had left to call his own.

O Jesus, I could be a mule or plow the furrows with my hands if need be or hold those rickety walls up with my back if need be if I knew that somewhere in this world in the pocket of some night I could open my legs to some cowboy lean hips but you are trying to tell me no and O my sweet Jesus what kind of cross is that?

And even later, when for the first time in her life she had lain in bed with a man and said his name involuntarily or said it truly meaning him, the name she was screaming and saying was not his at all.

my sex life became sort of like Diet Coke—deceptively sweet minus nutrition.