Quotes About Obsession

I was rather fond of her, but I was even fonder of my vices, my mania for running away from everywhere in search of God knows what, driven, I suppose, by stupid pride, by a sense of some sort of superiority

the old geezer was eighty, he'd been horseback riding only last year ... now he had a different sport, he went down on all fours and the kids rode him ... giddyap, horsie! they whipped him with his riding whip! ... till the blood came! ... he loved it! ... all around his study! faster! faster! ... los! ... into the next room ... witches! witches! he yelled at them, with his bare old ass! ...

De cum pui piciorul undeva,ambiÅ£ii se trezesc în tine.Eu unul aveam vocaÅ£ia s? fiu bolnav,bolnav ÅŸi nimic mai mult.

Compared with the addiction to perfect forms, cocaine is a pastime for stationmasters. But

S'ils se mettent à penser à vous, c'est à votre torture qu'ils pensent qu'ils songent aussitôt les autres, et rien qu'à ça.

Love doesn't give you control—it takes control of you.

You make it sound mad," Sylvie said. "As if it drives you crazy.

When one great passion seizes possession of the soul all other feelings are crowded out.

In her autobiographical Giving Up the Ghost (2003), Hilary Mantel reveals: "I have always been addicted to something or other, usually something there's no support group for. Semicolons, for instance, I can never give up for more than two hundred words at a time.

Lucern was worth giving up chocolate. Dark chocolate, white chocolate, milk chocolate - she would happily give it all up for him.

Good Lord, not again! What the devil is it with you and libraries that makes you unable to control yourself in them, James? You have always had a passion for books, but really! I fear she is right. I always have had a passion for libraries. Still, I never realised quite how much pleasure they could afford until I met you.

The mind feasts on what it focuses on. What consumes my thinking will be the making or the breaking of my identity.

Deus te livre, leitor, de uma ideia fixa; antes um argueiro, antes uma trave no olho.

God save you, dear reader, from an idée fixe, better a speck, a mote in the eye

Los locos de amor eran tres o cuatro, pero sólo les resultaban asombrosos por la curiosa índole de su delirio.

Suddenly it was all very clear to Vanessa that all that mattered was that she get out of this place, far away from this lonely, obsessive woman.

time sickness," the "obsessive belief that 'time is getting away, that there isn't enough of it'" (qtd. in Honoré 3).

Suppose I were to begin by saying that I had fallen in love with a color.

It is a terrible thing to want something you cannot have. It takes you over. I couldn't think straight because of it. There was no one else, I realized, whom I could possibly tell.

You young people are always so obsessed with truth. The truth is often overrated.

He kissed her then, not gently, not tenderly. He didn't kiss her to comfort her. He took her mouth hungrily, almost savagely, wanting to punish her for having a body that tormented him, for telling him that his last kiss had meant nothing, needed to punish her for letting scum like Jack Caldwell call her honey, and for ever thinking about a man who wasn't him.

We have become obsessed with what is good about small classrooms and oblivious about what also can be good about large classes. It's a strange thing isn't it, to have an educational philosophy that thinks of the other students in the classroom with your child as competitors for the attention of the teacher and not allies in the adventure of learning.

I'm drawn again and again to obsessives. I like them. I like the idea that someone could push away all the concerns and details that make up everyday life and just zero in on one thing - the thing that fits the contours of his or her imagination. Obsessives lead us astray sometimes. Can't see the bigger picture. Serve not just the world's but also their own narrow interests. But I don't think we get progress or innovation or joy or beauty without obsessives.

Hell," he finished absurdly. "Because—" He produced a twenty-peso note and laid it on the table. "I like it," he called to them, through the open window, from outside. Cervantes stood behind the bar, with scared eyes, holding the cockerel. "I love hell. I can't wait to get back there. In fact I'm running, I'm almost back there already.