Quotes About Desire

Happiness is getting what we want; contentment is wanting what we get.

One of the most important things I've learned is that creating a vision of what you want to be is the beginning of making it happen.

I would like to do maybe a smaller romantic comedy.

I still didn't know what the future held. I didn't have a map or even a plan. But I had learned that's what life was - risky, messy, no way to tie it up in neat little packages despite my desire for it to be otherwise.

Sometimes there is more to a person's need for white picket fences than safety, just as sometimes there is more to a person's rebellion than the need to lash out against rules.

Now when I'm down there blowing you, don't you worry about coming. I want it, baby. I want all of it, your hot spunk down my throat, spilling over my tongue. I wanna taste you for a week. So don't be shy. When you're ready, you come, okay?

Crescent illae crescetis amores.

I was the girl whose face fell when she saw a wrapped present in the shape of a box, perhaps a jigsaw puzzle. Worst of all, that preparation for the future slave-house of motherhood, a doll. I only wanted book tokens or books themselves – but better a book token. The worst present is the book you don't want to read.

Marriages last because the people in them want to be married

Kept Burning and Distant" You return when you feel like it, like rain. And like rain you are tender, with the rain's inept tenderness. A passion so general I could be anywhere. You carry me out into the wet air. You lay me down on the leaves and the strong thing is not the sex, But waking up alone under the tress after.

Hungry, we are hungry for the whole world. We are like the small fish in the sea, the ones who swim into the mouths of larger ones to take what's there.

Nostalgia is toxic, false, and impulse based in a desire to escape the present into the imagined past.

At the moment, he kinda knew how the male praying mantis felt when he was approaching Ms. Mantis, knowing the sex was going to be great but he was going to gethis head bitten off. Ah, well. Some things were worth losing your head.

His mouth was hot and hungry, and he kissed the way no man should kiss and still be allowed to run free.

Liking something and wanting to take it for a ride are two very different things', Joslyn sais, climbing out of the truck to stand on the ground. Hutch's eyes sparkled as he came around to face her. 'I'm not touching that one with a ten-foot pole,' he told her.

He wished he knew how to make tea, wished he even had some to try with. That was what Miss June-bug wanted when she was feeling low, a good cup of tea, and it always seemed to brace her right up.

Caleb's mind filled with an unbidden image of her in the parlor of the grand house in Fox Chapel, wearing silks and satins and graciously greeting his guests of an evening. He'd be the envy of every man north of the Mason-Dixon line. He shook off the idea. He was looking for another mistress, not a wife.

We are all searching for the fairy tale. When it doesn't come, we try to create it.

But I wanted marriage for myself. I was not calculating about it. I wish I was more calculating.

I could never be sure whether he would be there when I arrived. On my way through the forest I used to pass a large granite block where I would stop, draw my breath and close my fists with my thumbs inside, then close my eyes and whisper: 'Please, please, please let him be there today,' before continuing. If he wasn't, I felt it was because I had done wrong. That somehow I had to earn the right to such pleasure.

What We Want What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book and these things bear our names -- now they want us. But what we want appears in dreams, wearing disguises. We fall past, holding out our arms and in the morning our arms ache. We don't remember the dream, but the dream remembers us. It is there all day as an animal is there under the table, as the stars are there.

To be the other woman is to be a season that is always about to end, when the air is flowered with jasmine and peach, and the weather day after day is flawless, and the forecast is hurricane.

Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open--that one and that--and I make my choice in a mood of exalted luck, browsing among them like a cow in sweetest pasture. For life is continuous as long as they wait to be read--these inked paths opening into the future, page after page, every book its own receding horizon. And I hold them, one in each hand, a curious ballast weighing me here to earth.

We want desperately to believe that no matter what life we've led, at the end we can pull off a victorious and elegant exit.