Quotes About Desire

I'm restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again

All the tragedy lay in trying to fit a boundless and insatiable love into human proportions, into one love.

When I saw you . . . I chose my body.

and said to Djuna: I am tired. And laid a despondent, a heavy head on her breast, his heavy body on her body, and all his unfulfilled desires, his aborted moments, lay down with his like stones in his pocket, weighing him down, so that the bed creaked with the inertia of his words: I wanted to do this, I wanted to do that, I want to change the world, I want to go and fight... But it is night already, the day has fallen apart, disintegrated in his hands.

What did I want? I wanted a life with you! And I get instead Radio City, the lights going up, "honey I love you," dancing all night, crap shooting, cellophane magic, chrome and black marble.

Oh, Henry, I can't bear to be writing you—I want you desperately, I want to open my legs so wide, I'm melting and palpitating. I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them. Hugo is calling. I'll answer the rest of the letter tonight.

On what wings does she take flight from Henry? As if the sensual act had been but a mouth applied to an opium pipe.

Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and a tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, willfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

The relief of opening one's hand and letting go was immense. But soon after, I tightened again. A desire for revenge, a strange revenge.

I think sometimes that perhaps I have been unfair to put my writing above everything else. I am a man and I want my woman. If writing interferes then to hell with writing.

What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again.

Dreams are necessary to life.

I want to make my own discoveries…….penetrate the evil which attracts me

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.

I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it.

Many couples, many people, are not living with real human beings, but with their ghosts. Who has not followed for years the spell of a particular tone of voice, from voice to voice, as the fetishist follows a beautiful foot, scarcely seeing the woman herself? A voice, a mouth, an eye, all stemming from the original fountain of our first desire, directing it, enslaving us, until we choose to unravel the fatal web and free ourselves.

You do not know what you are missing by your microscopic examination of sexual activity to the exclusion of aspects which are fuel that ignites it. Intellectual, imaginative, romantic, emotional. This is what gives sex its surprising textures, its subtle transformations, its aphrodisiac elements. You are shrinking your world of sensations. You are withering it, starving it, draining its blood.

Warmth, perfume, rugs, soft lights, books. They do not appease me. I am aware of time passing, of all the world contains that I have not seen, of all the interesting people I have not met.

This great handsomeness I took into myself later when he desired me, but I took it as one breathes air, or swallows a snowflake, or yields to the sun.

The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation.

Jeanne, I fell asleep among the paintings, where I could sit for many days worshipping your portrait. I fell in love with your portrait, Jeanne, because it will never change. I have such a fear of seeing you grow old, Jeanne, I fell in love with an unchanging you that will never be taken away from me. I was wishing you would die, so that no one could take you away from me, and I would love the painting of you as you would look eternally.

I want to do things so wild with you that I don't know how to say them.

The inferior man regulates his life by externals: inasmuch as he is constrained by desire for long life, reputation, riches, rank or offspring, he is not free. The superior man is of another sort, and of him it may be said, with Chuan Tzu, 'that they live in accordance with their own nature. In the whole world they have no equal. They regulate their life by inward things.

The grass is always greener on the hand that feeds.