Quotes About Desire

He probably ate girls like her for breakfast. They all did. They all had. She had no intention of being eaten for breakfast, ever again. Her naughty brain took that thought, twirled it around and had a party with it.

Catherine Le Vendeur, he asked sententiously, have you known this man carnally? No father, Catherine answered. But, with your kind permission, I would very much like to.

I didn't have to go. I could fade into the crowd, be pushed along through the tunnel, into the city. I could roll along in my bubble ball. I was used to moving, used to packing up and following along like a robot, but I was tired of it. I wanted to stop moving and I wanted to be somewhere and stay somewhere and I wanted my family.

I wish that every baby everywhere could land in a family that wanted that baby as much as we want ours.

The second jealousy is this: I am jealous that my mother had wanted more children. Wasn't I enough? When I walk in her moccasins, though, I say, If I were my mother, I might want more children--not because I don't love my Salamanca, but because I love her so much. I want more of these.

Removing his helmet, Edward knelt by the stream called Swillgate, a name that effectively quenched any desire to drink from its depths.

I've never been so hungry that I was willing to lick honey off thorns.

I]f I truly thought we had a chance to succeed…But the risk is too great. I've never been so hungry that I was willing to lick honey off thorns.

What would you do if you could fly? Mrs. V asks as she glances from the bird to me. Is that on the quiz? I ask, grinning as I type. I think we've studied just about everything else. Mrs. V chuckles. I'd be scared to let go, I type. Afraid you'd fall? she asks. No. Afraid it would feel so good, I'd just fly away.

Maybe in order to understand sex fully/one has to risk being destroyed by it.

it is forbidden to love where we are not loved

I want to live. I take them up like the male and female paper dolls and bang them together at the hips like chips of flint as if to strike sparks from them, I say Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

the liquor like fire in his hand

I've said that he and I had been crazy for each other. But maybe my ex and I were not crazy for each other. Maybe we were sane for each other, as if our desire was almost not even personal - it was personal, but that hardly mattered, since there seemed to be no other woman or man in the world.

Desire- grasping, clinging, greed, attachment - is a state of mind that defines what we think we need in order to be happy. We project all of our hopes and dreams of fulfillment onto some object of our attention. This may be a certain activity or outcome, a particular thing or person. Deluded by our temporary enchantment, we view the world with tunnel vision. That object, and that alone, will make us happy.

The fulfillment we have in owning, in desiring, is temporary and illusory, because there is nothing at all we can have that we will not lose eventually. And so there is always fear.

With attachment all that seems to exist is just me & that object I desire.

Having' something makes us think we can control it.

One of the amazing attributes of samsara is that no matter what we have or what is available to us, we know that somewhere out there, there is always more. The potential for dissatisfaction is infinite, because in this world of change, there is no end to arising and passing away, and the possibilities for comparing and wanting are endless.

Never feel ashamed of your longing for happiness.

Not paying attention keeps us in an endless cycle of wanting.

In more ways than any of us can name, love is wrapped up with the idea of expectation.

When an Englishman wants something, George Bernard Shaw observed, he never publicly admits to his wanting it; instead, his want is expressed as 'a burning conviction that it is his moral and religious duty to conquer those who possess the thing he wants'. Durant is scathing about this pretence: 'Hypocrisy was added to brutality, while the robbery went on.' And

Few women, Ganapathi, fail to be excited by the thought of producing children from different men; it is the ultimate assertion of their creative power. Fortunately for mankind, however, or perhaps unfortunately, fewer still have the courage to put their fantasy into practice.)