Quotes About Desire

the desire to wring out a few more drips of happiness almost always destroyed the happiness you were so lucky to have, and so foolish never to acknowledge.

She wanted nothing more than someone to miss, to touch, with whom to speak like a child, with whom to be a child.

We looked at each other until it felt like everything would burst into flames

There's a Hasidic proverb: 'While we pursue happiness, we flee from contentment.'" Jacob

Yesterday I wanted to turn inside out.

This is love, she thought, isn't it? When you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?

he was leaving me. I wondered if I should stop him. If I should wrestle him to the ground and force him to love me. I wanted to hold his shoulders down and shout into his face.

No, I do not like music. (But what she really was trying to say was this: I like music better than anything in the world, after you.)

He couldn't bear to live, but he couldn't bear to die. He couldn't bear the thought of he making love to someone else, but neither could he bear the absence of the thought. And as for the note, he couldn't bear to keep it, but he couldn't bear to destroy it either.

I can only hold on to the things I want to lose.

They do not desire anything more than everything they have known.

Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn't explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?

I would have done anything for him. Maybe that was my sickness. We made love in nothing places and turned the lights off. It felt like crying. We could not look at each other. It always had to be from behind. Like that first time. And I knew he wasn't thinking of me. He squeezed my sides so hard, and pushed so hard. Like he was trying to push me through to somewhere else. Why does anyone ever make love?

Time was passing like a hand waving from a train that I wanted to be on.

She was so beautiful, like someone who you will never meet, but always dream of meeting, like someone who is too good for you.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to shout myself into his ear.

She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release.

Blessings are just curses that other people envy.

The wanting, the needing, the distance, the disappointment: growing, knowing, committing, aging beside another. Alone, one can live perfectly. But not a life.

I wanted to build walls around him, I wanted to separate inside from outside, I wanted to give him an infinitely long blank book and the rest of time.

I couldn't explain my need to myself, and that's why it was such a beautiful need

People are always mistaking something that looks good for something that feels good.

I wanted to shout myself into his ear.

I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.