Quotes About Desire

Not that she didn't love almost every boy she'd ever met, and not that every boy in the world didn't totally love her. It was impossible not to. But she wanted someone to love her and shower her with attention the way only a boy who was completely in love with her could. The rare sort of love. True love. The kind of love she'd never had.

She closed Dan's door and walked down the hall to her room. He makes a good boyfriend, she repeated to herself. What the hell was that suppose to mean? She didn't just want a good boyfriend. She wanted that thing Gustav Klimt had captured so perfectly in The Kiss. That radiant, electric, hold-me-tight-so-I don't-fall-from-up-here-in-the-sky feeling of being in love. Well, don't we all, sweetie?

Open the fridge and put My heart on a plate. I'm just as you left me, and I taste even better leftover.

You want to fly in jets, and I just want to fly" -Baby Carlyle

En el amor de ella se había mezclado ira, una ira que se correspondía con la suya. Morder, engullir, irrumpir en el otro de una vez por todas, devorar, aprovecharse, ese completo barullo desesperado de seres que quieren convertirse en el otro, que quieren ser una sola cosa y no pueden, siempre obligados a separarse el uno del otro.

You are the end, and the beginning. ... When I die, my only regret will be that you could never reside in my heart to hear how it sings when you touch me.

It was I who was conquered. In just seven nights, that fledgling goddess not only discovered that I had a heart, but she stole it forever, then cradled it in the palm of her hand.

A man will do astonishing things for a woman he is ardent about.

It bothers you, doesn't it?" Mia said suddenly. "I think you can't imagine. Why anyone would choose a different life from the one you've got. Why anyone might want something other than a big house with a big lawn, a fancy car, a job in an office. Why anyone would choose anything different than what you'd choose.

It terrifies you. That you missed out on something. That you gave up something you didn't know you wanted." A sharp, pitying smile pinched the corners of her lips. "What was it? Was it a boy? Was it a vocation? Or was it a whole life?

The occasional embrace, a head leaned for just a moment on your shoulder, when what you really wanted more than anything was to press them to you and hold them so tight you fused together and could never be taken apart. It was like training yourself to live on the smell of an apple alone, when what you really wanted was to devour it, to sink your teeth into it and consume it, seeds, core, and all.

It had not been science that Lydia had loved. And then, as if the tears are telescopes, she begins to see more clearly: the shredded posters and pictures, the rubble of books, the shelf prostrate at her feet. Everything that she had wanted for Lydia, which Lydia had never wanted but had embraced anyway. A dull chill creeps over her. Perhaps—and this thought chokes her—that had dragged Lydia underwater at last.

Because more than anything, her mother had wanted to stand out; because more than anything, her father had wanted to blend in. Because those things had been impossible.

Teens could pay attention to nothing but the sexuality billowing off each other like steam.

Because more than anything, her mother had wanted to stand out; because more than anything, her father had wanted to blend in. Because those things had been impossible. In

At least I know who I am. What I want,

Please, Marilyn thinks. In this word is all she cannot phrase, even to herself. Please come back, please let me start over, please stay. Please.

It was like training yourself to live on the smell of an apple alone, when what you really wanted was to devour it, to sink your teeth into it and consume it, seeds core, and all.

Years of yearning had made her sensitive, the way a starving dog twitches its nostrils at the faintest scent of food.

He didn't know what exactly he wanted to say— I'm sorry, I didn't mean it —only the ever-deepening regret at how things were turning out between them, the desperate and impossible desire to go back to the way things had been.

It has been so long since he thought of his wife as a creature of want.

The occasional embrace, a head leaned for just a moment on your shoulder, when what you really wanted more than anything was to press them to you and hold them so tight you fused together and could never be taken apart.

The letter arrives on a Friday. I would like that, very much.

All the boys will be after you now.