Quotes About Desire

The yearning for him is like hunger, hollowing me.

and where there was greed there was hope.

I want-'' He stopped. Tore his fingers through his hair. ''Never mind what I want.'' His voice was quieter, now. ''What do you want?'' ''You.'' Always you.

I had seen the way he looked at Deidameia; or rather the way he did not. It was the same way he had looked at the boys in Phthia, blank and unseeing. He had never, not once, looked at me that way.

For a hundred generations, I had walked the world drowsy and dull, idle and at my ease. I left no prints, I did no deeds. Even those who had loved me a little did not care to stay.

My uncles rubbed their hands and smiled back. They went away, bent over their hopes, thinking what they could not wait to do when Titans ruled again. It was my first lesson. Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two.

The never ending ache of love and sorrow

They take what they want, and in return they give you only your own shackles.

I wanted to roll on the grass like a dog.

I wanted to wake him and see those eyes open. A thousand thousand times I had seen it, but I never tired of it.

I knew I was a fool. Even if he stayed past that spring to the next, such a man could never be happy closed up on my narrow shores.

And that's when I'm supposed to open my eyes like a dewy fawn, and see him poised over me like the sun, and make a little gasping noise of wonder and gratitude, and then he fucks me.

There is this, too." His hand was ceaseless now. "I know I have told you of this." I closed my eyes. "Tell me again," I said.

I can smell him. The oils that he uses on his feet, pomegranate and sandalwood; the salt of clean sweat; the hyacinths we had walked through, their scent crushed against our ankles. Beneath it all is his own smell, the one I go to sleep with, the one I wake up to.

He had never been hungry for glory, only for life.

He talked so often of longing for us and home. But it was lies. When he was back on Ithaca he was never content, always looking to the horizon. Once we were his again, he wanted something else.

The yearning for him is like hunger, hollowing me. Somewhere his soul waits, but it is nowhere I can reach. Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free. His ashes settle among mine, and I feel nothing.

Imagine such a happiness. Like drinking wine your whole life, instead of water.

Later, Achilles sleeps next to me. Odysseus' storm has come, and the coarse fabric of the tent wall trembles with its force. I hear the stinging slap, over and over, of waves reproaching the shore. He stirs and the air stirs with him, bearing the musk-sweet smell of his body. I think: This is what I will miss. I think: I will kill myself rather than miss it. I think: How long do we have?

He ran from me whenever I wanted him, but the moment I took up my work, he would drum at the floor with his heels, crying for my attention.

I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

Yet some say lovers are mad.

She's like cream, she's that soft. Once her thighs are around you, you'll forget your own name.

Gods pretend to be parents, but they are children, clapping their hands and shouting for more.