Quotes About Desire

Si no recuerdas la más ligera locura en que el amor te hizo caer, no has amado. –William Shakespeare

Si no te quieren como tú quieres que te quieran, ¿qué importa que te quieran?

156. AL PERDERTE YO A TI...   Al perderte yo a ti, tú y yo hemos perdido: yo, porque tú eras lo que yo más amaba y tú porque yo era el que te amaba más. Pero de nosotros dos tú pierdes más que yo: porque yo podré amar a otras como te amaba a ti, pero a ti no te amarán como te amaba yo.   Ernesto Cardenal

Ha de sobrarme la mitad del lecho, y ha de faltarme la mitad del alma.

The moon is my sun, the night is my day, Blood is my life, and you are my prey.

His fangs scraped lightly over her skin and then, with a low groan, he gave in to the need coursing through him. She moaned softly, her body sagging against his as the world went red. There was no pain and, oddly, no fear, only a remarkable sensual euphoria. She closed her eyes, drifting, falling into velvet blackness that threatened to sweep her away into oblivion.

Montroy stared at her as if she were speaking in a language he couldn't quite understand. "You asked to stay here? With him? But why?" "I'm afraid I can't explain it." Montroy raked a hand through his hair, thinking that, if he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand the workings of the female mind. "Well, I wish you'd try!

I hide in the shadows and lust for the light For I am Vampyre forever imprisoned by the night.

I long for what I do lost For that which can never be. I cloak the horror of what I am and pray you never see.

I shadow my gaze in your presence and pray you may ne'er be part, Of the hunger that class at my vitals of the evil that blackens my heart.

The vampire sleeping deep within the earth stirred, aroused by the scent of fresh prey in town. Gathering his senses, he deduced that the newcomer was young, healthy, and female. But it was the rich, warm scent of her life's blood that called to him, drawing him to full awareness. Just a single whiff, and he knew he would not rest until she was his.

You want enough to fill you up. You want more cocaine and more vodka. You want more of all of them, of men, of the things that stick out of them, egos and Marlboro reds and dirty words about banging your perfect ass.

Not a hope, a prayer; a fuckin' song.

So what. I'd make up whatever I lacked in other ways. Quickly. Fast, fast. Gimme my cake. It was time to fuck.

You hate this. You need more something.

You even consider the idea of leving with a thing posessed. You could do it. You have to do something. You have to do someone.

Let the two cross-tops and junk gin and four no-filter Camels make your heart pound.

You want to fuck the singer, but you would suck on any of them. A rim job, a piss shower, wouldn't matter. The band plays in nothing but tube socks hung over their cocks and sacks. They can make the socks swing like giant tittie tassels. You've never seen anything so sexy.

Passion is a sort of fever in the mind, which ever leaves us weaker than it found us.

My greatest weakness is... food. If it looks like it's going to taste nice, it goes in my face - simple as that.

I have a weakness for watches. I have to stop myself buying more.

I have a weakness for treating people's economic interests as their only interest, ignoring things like belonging and pride and the desire to send a message to those who ignore you.

I have a weakness for anything savory or bad guys. Bad boys.

My weakness is dark chocolate. I carry little tins of it in my purse.