Quotes About Desire

I am the impossibility of desiring the person you pity. And the petal of the Easter lily—

Still, for sixteen years I saw the way he passed the butter dish across the dining room table to her, as if he wished it could be more, as if he wished she could life the lid and precious gems would spill over her dinner, as if that might finally make her happy- an inedible, improvident gift, like easy, unexpected laughter.

He felt certain that if she'd have let him, he could have levitated with her in his arms and they could have made love on the ceiling. He could have unzipped his body and wrapped her in his skin. He could have buried himself in her neck and slipped into the place between her shoulder and her throat, and been soldered by passion to her forever.

That to want to succeed is to fail

My eyes closed, hands open, Take it, take it . Then, every day wasted chasing it.

Maybe I stepped into the skin my mother left behind, and became the girl my mother had been, the one she still wanted to be. Maybe I was wearing her youth now like an airy scarf, an accessory, all bright nerves and sticky pearls, and maybe that's why she spent so much time staring at me with that wistful look in her eyes. I was wearing something of hers, something she wanted back. It was written all over her face.

I've thought about having a family. I just haven't seen any that really appeal to me.

Its been six weeks," he murmured. "Six weeks I've wanted you. I know how you move, and how the sunlight makes a shadow on the curve of your cheek, and the shape of your ear." He chucked harshly then turned his head on the pillow to look at her. "I'm dying," he said. He dropped his fist against his chest. "Right here, you're killing me.

The flame in her was slow and deep-he was going to incite it with the fire in himself; he was going to make a blaze to burn down cities, to lay waste cathedrals and castles and plain meetinghouses-to make a world where it was only him, and only her, and this bed, and one flesh.

But no monk am I in my head, God grant me pardon," he whispered. His body drew closer, velvet and taut elegance. "My confessor has chastised me oft, and bade me study on my sins at length. And so, lady"--he kissed her, the hunger in it sinking down through her like a comet falling--"I have studied.

He felt her draw a little shuddering breath, and then a wet tumble of water on her cheek. She whispered, "God forgive, Jervaulx—that I sh'dovethee." That I should love thee.It broke the spell that held him. Had she said that? He pushed back, gazing at her.

Trev's smile turned into a grin. His dark lashes lowered. "Do you know," he said, "when you smile at me that way, I'd like to…" He broke off his sentence and cleared his throat. "Well. Slay dragons, or something along that line." "Mere dragons?" she inquired. "I was hoping it would be giant squids.

I want to see your stockings," he growled. "The plain white ones." Her lips parted, as if to make a refusal, and then she blinked. Her puzzled look only made her more adorable to him. "Yes, I was driven demented in your closet." He bent down to kiss her. "I'm passionately in love with your hosiery.

She had thought Raymond handsome. But the Raven was something beyond handsome. Beyond gallant manners and teasing glances. He was like the old, old stories, like the unknown man who waited on a darkened hill, the mist around him, hand outstretched ... In the stories, if a woman went to him... she did not return. But she wanted to go ... She wanted.

He walked to Brooks's, intending to drink a glass of port, eat a joint of beef, and read the Times. But even at his club, surrounded by all the trappings of the honorable British gentleman, he still longed for the forbidden fruit; he still hungered for the hot, sweet kisses of an Italian girl.

Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; Then to that twenty, add a hundred more. Robert Herrick, 1648

The point is, all my life I've hung back, never going after what I really wanted, trying to be content with settling for less. Meanwhile, life went on all around me, but I was never really a part of it.

Oh, that anything could feel like this. It was wicked and wanton. It was wonderful. That Philip, whom she always thought so proper, should know of such things as this. It amazed her.

He could feel the only woman he had ever wanted slipping away for the third time, and he knew that this time, the pain of losing her would annihilate her.

It's time love," he murmured, nuzzling her throat, kissing her ear. "I've waited so long. I can't wait any longer have you.

There was fear, of course. That was always with her, something she'd accepted and learned to live with a long time ago. But, right beside it, other emotions were pushing up, fighting for space and light and air. Things like excitement and desire, longing and hope. Agony and uncertainty. Things that made fear seem almost comfortable, like broken-in pair of leather shoes or a perfectly fitted glove. Fear, at least, was familiar.

He's the sort of man who wants power. He doesn't have it, but he thinks he's entitled to it by birthright. He's incapable of earning what he wants, so he wants what he hasn't earned. The sort of man who, if he wants something, thinks it's all right to take it.

You long to jump off, but you just can't work up the nerve, so you tell yourself you're content to look at the view.

You're killing me," he told her, panting, his palms sliding down over her ribs to explore the rest of her shape—her waist, her hips, her thighs. "Killing me by inches." He lifted his body from hers enough to yank up her skirt. "But it's a damn fine way for a man to die.