Quotes About Desire

Could I have a Sloe Gin Fizz, without the gin? What's the point of that, Miss? the waiter said. Tomorrow morning, Mabel said.

Perhaps this is how girls fall -- not in some crime of enchantment at the hands of a wicked ne'er-do-well, a grand before and after in which they are innocent victims who have no say in the matter. Perhaps they simply are kissed and want to kiss back. Perhaps they even kiss first. And why should they not?

He wanted to hit something or someone. He wanted to burn up the whole world, heal it, and burn it down again.

I changed my mind. I don't want to be an inveshtigative journalist anymore. I want to be a professional rum drinker." "There are people who do that," Duff said. He'd barely sipped his rum. "Really? What do you call them?" "Alcoholics.

Just once, she'd like to be the exciting one, the girl somebody wanted.

Learn to master yourself-to understand both your fears and your desires. That's the key to magic. Then, no one shall have any hold over you. Remember... the magic (sic)... is a living thing, joined to whomever it touches and changed by them as well... You must come to know everything-even your darkest corners. Especially those...Everything has its price.

And yet, you're still alone. All that trying and still you stand apart, watching from the other side of the glass. Afraid to have what you truly want because what if it's not enough after all ? So much better to wrap yourself up in the longing. The yearning. The restlessness. Poor Gemma. She doesn't quite fit, does she? Poor Gemma--all alone.

Sexuality is not meant to be this way - an honest, consensual expression in which a girl might take an active role when she feels good and ready and not one minute before. No. Sexual desire is meant to sell soap. And cars. And beer. And religion.

What you want can be yours. But you must first know what it is you want.

Gemma~Was he really looking at me that way? Kartik~What way? Gemma~Like a piece of ripe fruit? Katrik~You'd best be on your guard with him.

She loved attention. It was like a glass of the best champagne—bubbly and intoxicating—and as with champagne, she always wanted more of it. Still, she didn't want to seem like an easy mark. "If you must know, I've come to join a convent," Evie said, testing him.

There's no time to be modest. Reason will not work here. Without warning, I kiss Kartik. His lips, pressed firmly against mine, are a surprise. They are warm, light as breath, firm as the give of a peach against my mouth. A scent like scorched cinnamon hangs in the air, but I'm not falling into any vision. It's his smell in me. A smell that makes my stomach drop through my feet. A smell that pushes all thought out of my head and replaces it with an overpowering hunger for more.

It's only his thumb brushing slowly across the lower edge of my lip, but it's as if time slows and the sweep of that thumb below my mouth takes forever. It is no spell that I know of, but it holds such magic, I can scarcely breath. He pulls his hand away fast, aware of what he's done. But his touch lingers.

One day, Evie O'Neill, you're gonna fall head over heels for me!

He's attracted to the smell of manure, Felicity says. You might wallow in the stables to bring out the full flower of his love.

You have been deceived. Spiritualism is no more a science than thievery. For that's all this is--very skilled dodgers stealing money from the bereaved for a little glint of hope. People see what they want to see when they need to.

People want to be safe, not free.

Perhaps it is only the light. Perhaps it is the power of the realms at work through me. Or perhaps it is some combination of spirit and desire, love and hope, some alchemy that we each possess and can put to use, if first we know were to look without flinching.

With each shimmy, the bugle beads on their scandalously revealing costumes swung and shook. It was the sort of display Evie knew her mother would have found appalling—an example of the moral decay of the young generation. It was sexual and dangerous and thrilling, and Evie wanted more of it.

It's funny. I used to feel that I wouldn't care if I died. I just kept throwing myself at life, hoping I'd hit a bull's-eye eventually. I thought death would be a relief from all that feeling. A relief not to have all that pain. Not to care so much,' Evie said.

What do I want? Why is that simple question - four little words - so impossible to answer?

It is the taste of forgetting. Of sleep and dreams with no waking. Never to long or yearn, to struggle or hurt or love or desire ever again. And I understand that this is what it truly means to lose your soul.

Do not be tempted by English roses. Their beauty fades, but their thorns are forever.

It's knowing that I'll never have what she has—a beauty so powerful it brings things to you. I fear I will always have to chase the things I want. I'll always have to wonder whether I'm truly wanted or whether I've just been settled for.