Quotes About Compulsion

Did you ever eat a whole box of cookies right in a row? Did you ever do that? I don't mean take them into your bedroom or something. I mean open them right up in the kitchen as soon as you get home from the store and eat 'em while you're standing there? Just stare at the toaster while you're eatin' a whole goddamn box of cookies?

I won the lottery. I don't care what it costs.

I'm obsessive. That's the word for me. I obsess - perhaps to the point where it's moderately dysfunctional. I tend to put a book through about 100 revisions. If anything, that's an understatement. If there's another author out there who does this sort of revision, I would really like to meet him. Maybe we could form some sort of support group.

Anorexia, you starve yourself. Bulimia, you binge and purge. You eat huge amounts of food until you're sick and then you throw up. And anorexia, you just deny yourself. It's about control.

I have OCD, which is not fun. I have to be incredibly tidy and organized or it messes with my mind and switches off on me.

You either participate in life out of your compulsions or out of your consciousness. Consciousness means to be beyond compulsiveness. Compulsiveness means repetitive nature. Adiyogi participates out of consciousness. He recognizes that there are compulsions in people, but the whole spiritual process is to rise beyond that.

Everybody has a weakness. Mine is food.

Books want to be born: I never make them. They come to me and insist on being written, and on being such and such.

The main source of illness in this world is the doctor's own illness: his compulsion to try to cure and his fraudulent belief that he can.

Ah, but being in love made you mean and crazy. Love made you act like a fool even when you knew you were acting like a fool and couldn't help yourself from acting like a fool.

Love at first sight had always seemed a ridiculous thing to him, fairy tale stuff, but on that morning when he looked at Olivia nothing else had mattered, whatever matter. She was beautiful, but it wasn't that, it was something else, some strange compulsion that made him feel that he'd known her for a thousand years, that he'd been waiting all his life for her to some into it.

He was still lying to her, it was a compulsion he couldn't escape from but there was no other way.

When you want something badly enough it's amazing what you'll ignore.

Oh, I steal things all the time. It's just something I do. I stopped caring a long time ago.

Ignoraba que el asco es una de las formas de la obsesión y que, si deseamos algo, es más fácil pensar en ello con asco que no pensar.

Writers seldom just stop writing. We're like serial killers in that way. You have to stop us, because we cannot stop ourselves.

feeling that old thrill of dread and compulsion, he knew circumstances had once again put him too close to a fragile thing. He said, Look at the life we live, Della. I have to sneak over here in the dark just to steal a few words with you. Is that language, or is it noise? She said, It's noise that you have to do it, and language that you do it, anyway. She said softly, Maybe poetry.

For every man there exists bait he cannot resist swallowing.

Hapisteki ÅŸairin dediÄŸi gibi, her insan sevdiÄŸi ÅŸeyi öldürür. Ceza öÄŸesi budur belki de. (syf. 100)

Although she seemed to be enjoying the party, even to the extent of being in sight of hysteria, she had evidently also reached the stage when moving to another spot had become an absolute necessity to her; not because she was in any way dissatisfied with the surroundings in which she found herself, but on account of the coercive dictation of her own nerves, not to be denied in their insistence that a change of scene must take place.

Love is involuntary. It does not often run in a yoke with prudence.

It was a thousand pities that so good a woman should have been driven by the sad stress of circumstances to tell so many fibs. One after another she was compelled to invent them, that there might be a way open to her of escaping the horrors of a prolonged sojourn in that hotel.

That trip was like all my life, distilled: a compulsion to thrust myself toward adventure, offset by a longing to crawl into the pouch of some benevolent kangaroo who would take me bounding, protected, through life.

The life of money-making is one undertaken under compulsion, and wealth is evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely useful and for the sake of something else.