Quotes About Desire

No man ever truly possesses a woman, anyhow," said Gidas moodily. "He has her body for a time if he's lucky, but only the most fleeting glimpse into her soul." Gidas was a poet, or wanted to be.

We are the total of our longings [...]

I want to kill someone," Tai said. A pause to consider this. "I am familiar with the desire. It is sometimes effective. Not invariably.

And knowing, too, that this sort of artistry could not endure past the shaping moment, could only be spoken of after by those who recalled, or misrecalled, who had seen and half seen and not seen at all, distorted by memory and desire and ignorance, the achievement of it written as if on water or on sand. It mattered, terribly, and just now it didn't matter at all. Or could the fragility, the defining impermanence actually intensify the glory? The thing lost as soon as made?

What is my sin, Blaise? Rudel was like that. A knife in the voice and in the thought behind. Quicksilver bright, insubstantial as a moon on water sometimes, then sharp and merciless and deadly as ... as an arrow dipped in syvaren. And the sharpness in his perceptions, as much as in anything else. A man from whom it was difficult to hide. For the sin, the transgression, lay— and Rudel knew it, they both knew it — in his having given Blaise exactly what he wanted.

My mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday, so I said I wanted to read poetry with her.

Life let you have what you wanted. But life was like a storekeeper who put up a sign saying "Buy now, pay later," and tempted you into buying so much that you were in debt for years

it's so easy to be a fool when one falls in love.

You're always tellin' me to go out more, Go ahead, get out and see the world, But then I think, why should I? I'd rather stay home and cry.

I don't know what I'm playing at. I feel so romantic and furious all the time.

He was a mystery. Intimacy is a mystery; maybe that's what he wanted.

I know the music that makes him dance, and I intend to play it for him as long as i breathe.

Life's aim, if it has one, is to be always looking for temptations - and there are not nearly enough of them, I find. I sometimes pass the whole day without coming across a single one. It makes one so nervous about the future.

The peach-out-of-reach in the adjacent orchard is always more alluring than the apple on the ground in one's own.

Desire nothing, Chafe not at fate, nor at Nature's changeless laws. But struggle only with the personal, the transitory, the evanescent and the perishable.

porque las mujeres quieren mucho tiempo después de que han dejado de respetar lo que quieren.

I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow.

perhaps within me the desire to put off that which I most in the world desire of late keeps watch, I mean, to write a book but a wounded book, a contentious, broken book, a book not pleased to be a book, to be only a book, to be born in the absence of my friend, a book incapable of acting as if the last times were not upon us, but which at the same time cannot act as if it were only a book hence a being unaware of the end, unaware what time it is.

This is how I want you: larger and smaller stronger and weaker taller and trembling more, more out of breath that I more burning more penetrating bolder bossier more yielding more frightened narrower and more relentless than you are more than I.

I Drink. I Burn. I Dream. And Sometimes, I tell Stories !

I, too, overflow; my desires have invented new desires, my body knows unheard-of songs. Time and again I, too, have felt so full of luminous torrents that I could burst-burst with forms much more beautiful than those which are put up in frames and sold for a stinking fortune. And I, too, said nothing, showed nothing; I didn't open my mouth, I didn't repaint my half of the world. I was ashamed. I was afraid, and I swallowed my shame and my fear. I said to myself: You are mad!

This is why we desire so often to die, when we write, in order to see everything in a flash, and at least once shatter the spine of time with only one pencil stroke. — Hélène Cixous, Stigmata: Escaping Texts . (Routledge November 12, 1998)

Que naîtrait-il de mon désir? Le corps unique et inconnu de notre silence: il faut trouver cette langue sans mots et sans limites qui nous perpétuera sans erreur et sans affaiblissement.

Love loves to return, to bring back to the origin, to begin loving from the first instant, love wants to love everything