Quotes About Desire

She waiting impatiently for him to turn away and settle into a wet skim of satisfaction and light disgust, leaving her to the postcoital privateness in which she met herself, welcomed herself, and joined herself in matchless harmony.

Marriages performed within,' read the sign next to the coffeehouse door, underneath in small letters a verse that combined warning with a sales pitch: 'When lawless lust hath conceived it bringeth forth sin.

Sleep without the fragrance of her hair next to him was impossible.

He had yet to discover what destroyed that desire. But he did not dwell on it. He thought rather of whatever had happened to the curiosity he used to feel. Nothing, nothing, interested him now. Not himself, not other people. Only in drink was there some break, some floodlight, and when that closed, there was oblivion.

Winter in Ohio was especially rough if you had an appetite for color.

He dragged her under him and made love to her with the steadiness and the intensity of a man about to leave for Dayton.

I can never not have you have me.

She spent her days, her tendril, sap-green days, walking up and down, up and down, her head jerking to the beat of a drummer so distant only she could hear. Elbows bent, hands on shoulders, she flailed her arms like a bird in an eternal, grotesquely futile effort to fly.

Maybe everybody has a renegade tongue yearning to be on its own.

Mother hunger - to be one or have one - both of them were reeling from that long which, Lina knew, remained alive, traveling the bone.

I stroked every inch of his golden skin. Sucked his earlobes. I know the quality of the hair in his armpit. I fingered the dimples in his upper lip. I poured red wine in his navel and drank its spill. There's no place on my body his lips did not turn into bolts of lightning. Oh God..I have to stop reliving our lovemaking. I have to forget how new it felt every single time. Both fresh and somehow eternal. I'm tone deaf, but fucking him made me sing.

She loved nothing in the world except this woman's son, wanted him alive more than anybody, but hadn't the least bit of control over the predator that lived inside her. Totally taken over by her anaconda love, she had no self left, no fears, no wants, no intelligence that was her own.

The eyes are petulant, mischievous. To Pecola they are simply pretty. She eats the candy, and its sweetness is good. To eat the candy is somehow to eat the eyes, eat Mary Jane. Love Mary Jane. Be Mary Jane.

They did everything but slap each other, and finally they did that. What postponed the inevitable were loves forlorn and a very young girl in too tight clothes tapping on the screen door.

Knowing that she would hate him long and well filled her with pleasant anticipation, like when you know you are going to fall in love with someone and you wait for the happy signs.

Looking at Milkman in those nighttime talks, they yearned for something. Some word from him that would rekindle the dream and stop the death they were dying.

Milton's Paradise is quite available these days, if not in fact certainly as ordinary, unexceptionable desire.

but the music, which he hoped would coat his nerve ends, only splayed them.

Medical and scientific resources are directed toward more life and fitter life and remind us that the desire is for earthbound eternity, rather than eternal afterlife. The implication being that this is all there is.

prestressed concrete and steel contained anger, folded it back on itself to become a craving for things rather than vengeance

There were two rooms and she took him into one of them, hoping he wouldn't mind the fact that she was not prepared; that though she could remember desire, she had forgotten how it worked; the clutch and helplessness that resided in the hands; how blindness was altered so that what leapt to the eye were places to lie down, and all else - doorknobs, straps, hooks, the sadness that crouches in corners, and the passing of time - was interference.

Of all the wishes people had brought him—money, love, revenge—this seemed to him the most poignant and the one most deserving of fulfillment. 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.

In that bower, closed off from the hurt of the hurt world, Denver's imagination produced its own hunger and its own food, which she badly needed because loneliness wore her out. Wore her out. Veiled and protected by the live green walls, she felt ripe and clear, and salvation was as easy as a wish.

Todo lo que buscan, tío, es su propio sufrimiento. Pídeles que mueran por ti y serán tuyas para toda la vida.