Quotes About Desire

What win I if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sells eternity to get a toy?

Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.

O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.

I'll look to like, if looking liking move; But no more deep will I endart mine eye than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

I'll have no husband, if you be not he.

Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

But she makes hungry Where she most satisfies...

This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.

O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven; keep me in temper; I would not be mad!

I have Immortal longings in me.

Music, moody food Of us that trade in love.

You're in love? Out Out of love? I love someone. She doesn't love me.

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable.

No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en. In brief, sir, study what you most affect.

A thousand times good night. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate And call upon my soul within the house; Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night; Hallo your name to the reverberate hills And make the babbling gossip of the air Cry out Olivia! O, you should not rest Between the elements of air and earth But you should pity me

Blind is his love and best befits the dark- Benvolio

Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, For what they have not, that which they possess They scatter and unloose it from their bond, And so, by hoping more, they have but less; Or, gaining more, the profit of excess Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch Which hurts and is desired.

O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!

Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.

Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well.