Quotes About Desire

Shopping is hope.

While forbidden fruit is said to taste sweeter, it usually spoils faster.

Today, no matter where I'm going and no matter what I am doing, it is my dominant intent to see that which I am wanting to see.

A mighty pain to love it is,And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain.

I never had any other desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and a large Garden.

This only grant me, that my means may lieToo low for envy, for contempt too high.

A mighty pain to love it is, and 'tis a pain that pain to miss but of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain.

There is, first, the desire for strength, for achievement, for adequacy, for confidence in the face of the world, and for independence and freedom. Secondly, we have what we may call the desire for reputation or prestige

You see, young Dr. Marion, that's what makes us human. We always want more.

And if beauty is in the ephemeral, what about the beautiful things you can't have? Perhaps that kind of beauty does last forever.

The land of milk and honey, Ghosh thought. Milk and honey, and love for money. Now

You're always pushin, shovin Satisfied with nothing You bitch you must be gettin old

He stands on the stone table and selects a large fig, bites into the skin, then opens it with his fingers. He thinks of a woman's sex, ancient and eternal, no young girl would have such gritty sweetness. Was this not perhaps the fruit that got Adam and Eve thrown out of Eden? Who would want to give up an unblemished state of immortality for the insipid apple?

I want to ask him how much he expects to take.

I imagine what it must be like to stay hidden, disappear in the dusky nothing and stay still in the night. It's not sadness, though it may sound like it. I'm thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it's hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow.

Even now, I don't know much about happiness. I still worry and want an endless stream of more, but some days I can see the point in growing something, even if it's just to say I cared enough.

If you live, you look back and beg for it again, the hazardous bliss before you know what you would miss.

I wanted to be a hummingbird. It made sense to long for rapid wings and the ability to hover always— to be Huitzilopochtli taming my snakes. Sometimes though, the thought exhausts me and I want to be a slow horse, a tennis shoe.

You're the muscle I cut from the bone and still the bone remembers, still it wants (so much, it wants) the flesh back, the real thing, if only to rail against it, if only to argue and fight, if only to miss a solve-able absence.

Now, there's a twisty summer storm outside, and I desire nothing but this storm to come. The calm voice on the TV tells us to stay safe. Says, Stay safe and seek shelter.

Sometimes, you just want something so hard you have to lie about it, so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute, how real hunger has a real taste

I loved them: my own bright dead things. I'm thirty-five and remember all that I've done wrong. Yesterday I was nice, but in truth I resented the contentment of the field. Why must we practice this surrender? What I mean is: there are days I still want to kill the carrots because I can.

It's been a long time since I've wanted to die, it makes me feel like taking off my skin suit and seeing how my light flies all on its own, neon and bouncy like a wannabe star.

How good it is to love live things, even when what they've done is terrible, how much we each want to be the pure exonerated creature, to be turned loose into out own wide open without a single harness of sin to stop us.