Quotes About Desire

All the things that are lovely—   The things you never knew— I wanted to gather them one by one   And bring them to you.

I think," said the Major, taking his pipe from his mouth, "that desire is the most wonderful thing in life. Anybody who can really feel it, is a king, and I envy nobody else!" He put back his pipe.

So I lay on your breast for an obscure hour Feeling your fingers go Like a rhythmic breeze Over my hair, and tracing my brows, Till I knew you not from a little wind:  Ã¢â'¬â€ I wonder now if God allows Us only one moment of his keys. If only then You could have unlocked the moon on the night, And I baptized myself in the light Of your love; we both have entered then the white Pure passion, and never again.

Money poisons you when you've got it, and starves you when you haven't.

You don't want to love—your eternal and abnormal craving is to be loved. You aren't positive, you're negative. You absorb, absorb, as if you must fill yourself up with love, because you've got a shortage somewhere.

He would be alone, and apart from life, which was all he wanted.

It was as if she could scarcely stand the shock of physical love, even a passionate kiss, and then he was too shrinking and sensitive to give it.

Heart an' belly an' cock.

But I will have it. I will love — it is my birthright. I will love the man I marry — that is all I care about.

Quite frantically, he longed not to be.

You've got very badly to want to get rid of the old, before anything new will appear — even in the self.

Yet there she stood under the self-accusation of wanting him, tied to that stake of torture.

Some things can't be ravished. You can't ravish a tin of sardines. And so many women are like that: and men. But the earth...!

I would like to have all the rest of the world disappear,' she said, `and live with you here.' `It won't disappear,' he said.

You had to take it out some way or other, your youth, or it ate you up. But what a ghastly thing, this youth! you felt as old as Methuselah, and yet the thing fizzed somehow, and didn't let you be comfortable. A mean sort of life! And no prospect!

Certainly she could take him without giving herself into his power. Rather she could use this sex thing to have power over him.

Her hand lay on the gate-post as she balanced. He put his own over it. His heart beat thickly. But did you - were you ever - did you give him a chance? Chance? - how? To come near you. Iw married him - and I was willing- They both strove to keep their voices steady. I believe he loves you, he said. It looks like it, she replied. He wanted to take his hand away, and could not. She saved him by removing her own.

The beautiful pure freedom of a woman was infinitely more wonderful than any sexual love. The only fortunate thing was that men lagged so far behind women in the matter. They insisted on the sex thing like dogs.

Then her eyes blazed naken in a kind of ecstasy, that frightened him.

Si rese conto, ora, che la dea-cagna del successo, aveva due grandi appetiti: uno era la fame di adulazione, di lusinghe, di carezze e moine che le davano gli artisti e gli scrittori. Ma l'altro era più feroce, era fame di carne e di ossa. E la carne e le ossa per la dea-cagna del successo, erano forniti dagli uomini che facevano denaro nelle industrie.

Don't talk any more, she pleaded softly, laying her hand on his forehead. He lay quite still, almost unable to move. His body was somewhere discarded. Why not - are you tired? Yes, and it wears you out. He laughed shortly, realising. Yet you always make me like it, he said.

You know, love isn't the twin-soul business. With you, for instance, women are like apples on a tree. You can have one that you can reach. Those that look best are overhead, but it's no good bothering with them. So you stretch up, perhaps you pull down a bough and just get your fingers round a good one. Then it swings back and you feel wild and you say your heart's broken. But there are plenty of apples as good for you no higher than your chest.

She saw him slender and firm, as if the setting sun had given him to her. A deep pain took hold of her, and she knew she must love him.

She searched earnestly in herself to see if she wanted Paul Morel. She felt there would be some disgrace in it. Full of twisted feeling, she was afraid she did want him. She stood selfconvicted. Then came an agony of new shame. She shrank within herself in a coil of torture. Did she want Paul Morel, and did he know she wanted him? What a subtle infamy upon her! She felt as if her whole soul coiled into knots of shame.