Quotes About Desire

Among other things, he [Thomas] insist he will perish if he cannot take me to Venice and watch me fall into a canal.

I don't design cars. I'm not a designer. I know what I desire to be built, I know what the end result is, the horsepower, the competition we'll be working against - but I leave it to the people who work with me to put it all together. I don't do anything.

I have never treasured any woman the way I treasure you now, this moment. You are all I think of, all I want.

What a hard thing it is to write of love! Easy enough to describe the burning brand of lust, or yearning of infatuation, that yearning that can never be assuaged. But love! There is only the word, and the knowing it.

the abuser's desire to abuse is not created by the child - it is there before the child appears

Guess you never know how much you like the water until the well runs dry, and if I can't have your love unconditionally, then I'll just have to do without it until you grow up.

Because as long as the hungry ghost believes that only the deprivation he already perceives is real, he will continue to perceive only deprivation. That's the vicious circle.

So the purpose of the axiom "having is evidence of wanting" is not at all to blame anyone or to shame them for their experience

It's impossible to desire something without also fearing it a bit, and it's impossible to fear and dislike something without also desiring it.

The tanks dug ladders in the earth no one was able to climb In every war someone puts a cigarette in the corpse's mouth And the corpse The corpse is never mentioned In the hours before his empty body was found It was this, this life that he longed for, this that he wrote of desiring, Yet this life leaves out everything for which he lived

An ache of hope that you will come back— the cawing flock is not your coming — Carolyn Forché, from "Travel Papers," In the Lateness of the World: Poems (Penguin Press, 2020)

In the night I come to you and it seems a shame to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.

Loving the unattainable was safe. That love could never be tested by day-to-day reality.

Relationships are complicated, but happiness in a relationship isn't: It's just wanting exactly what you have. Wanting something else is dispiriting.

What one remembers is, I think, a clue to what one wants to be.

Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.

One of her arms was around his waist as her eyes fluttered open. He found himself lost in limpid blue green. She wasn't his. Not legally. He could as yet lay no claim to her heart. He wanted the ceremony that would make her indisputably his. He wanted Sophie to be the mother of his children. He wanted Sophie. He wouldn't ever be whole without her. If he rushed her, he stood to lose everything.

He stopped moving for the space of a heartbeat. He bent his head to her shoulder and rocked his hips, pressing inside her. His hair fell forward around either side of his face, a frame of black, silky where it brushed her collarbone. "I am in paradise." His hips rocked again. She closed her eyes tight. She felt his lips on her cheek and then on her eyelids, placing gentle kisses.

Is it possible?" He could have sworn she was teasing. She shouldn't have the energy for that. "What?" He lay next to her on his stomach, wrung out. Completely and utterly sated and yet thinking of the things he yet wanted to do to her. "You did." Her voice was light, teasing even. "What?" "You begged, my lord." He laughed softly. "To have you make love to me like that, I'll beg you every night of my life, Lady Banallt.

With you it's different. I come like a bloody bull with you. I want to reach inside you and make you feel what I do, to know heaven and hell and pleasure so intense you can't tell if it's agony or pure bliss."..."When I make love to you, I am yours. You own me body and soul.

He did not want to go to his grave knowing he had risked nothing for the woman he wanted. He wasn't an ass, though. Or if he was, he did not wish to give her incontrovertible evidence of the fact. What to say to her, then, when he knew he was likely to speak too gruffly?

Oh, my God. They were going to sleep together, with no sleeping involved.

Dread that she would meet some other man and see in him all the joy of life that he lacked. "I will see you home." The words came out all wrong, with gruff emphasis on the word will. One look at her, and he lost all chance at serenity. Because he had never in his life cared whether anyone liked him. He'd never thought about it. Until her.

She bent her head over the flowers. He knew she was not beautiful. He knew she did not see herself as the object of a man's lust. He knew if he told her he found her desirable, she'd not understand his meaning. She'd think he meant something other than marriage. In that, she would be right, but a man could want both things from the same woman.