Quotes About Obsession

Desire, if handled incorrectly, could become a curse.

I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.

He could burn her up alive; he could do it in a minute flat, and that's not easy to forget.

There was a spark inside that holiest of holy places that made people want to possess it, and what men yearn for they often destroy.

Real love was dangerous. It got you from inside and held on tight. And if you didn't let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

Lucy Green couldn't stop reading. She was a secret reader...

and want can be a hundred times stronger than need, and a thousand times stronger than common sense. She

We all burn for what is bad for us...burn him in return. Maybe then the bastard won't have such a hold over you.

But those women who wanted someone else's husband, they were the worst. They would do absolutely anything for love. They got all twisted up, like rubber bands, just from the heat of their desire, and they didn't give a damn for convention and good manners.

She had fallen under water, under a spell, in love with love.

That's all someone in the grip of obsession needs: the single possibility that desire might be real, a tiny shred of evidence to show you're not all alone in the dark.

I've spoken of the patient Peter who was obsessively forced to make conquests with women, to seduce and then to abandon them, until he was at last able to experience how he himself had repeatedly been abandoned by his mother.

He takes up too much room, on the divan and in one's mind. It is simply impossible for me, in his presence, think of anything but him.

She hadn't been just a once-through reader either. Brothers Karamazov, Mill on the Floss, Wings of the Dove, Magic Mountain, over and over again. She would pick one up, thinking that she would just read that special bit -and find herself unable to stop until the whole thing was redigested

something make a man crawl over glass and fire to get to again after he get to it once

It was not so much, she would write in her journal, that she wanted to have sex with women, but that she wanted to disappear inside of them forever. To hide.

Perhaps this is simply the way it is with writers. It's when they don't see you that you matter. Because then you can belong to them in a way that permits them complete possession. You are determined by them. You are controlled. You are, generally speaking, exaggerated.

An objective viewpoint was beyond her; she was single-minded to a fault.

This obsession with death and suffering revealed itself in literature, poetry, art, and particularly in sculpture, with the appearance of cadaver tombs with an effigy of the deceased in life above, and another depicting his or her rotting corpse below—a grisly reminder of the end of all flesh.

I devour books the way gluttons gobble their food.

She saw Henry look hungrily into Anne's face as they met in the dance. And in that moment she knew.

No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love- be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love -cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy

I'm obsessed by Time Magazine. I read it every week. Always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.

Chasing the dragon is an art, you know – it must be done properly.