Quotes About Obsession

Tudo o que eu já lera sobre gente maluca havia se fixado no meu cérebro, enquanto o resto evaporou.

There's something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you're the only extra person in the room.

No podía apartar los ojos del alfiler. Una gran luz blanca parecía desprenderse de él, iluminando la habitación. Luego la luz se retiraba hacia su propio interior dejando una gota de rocío sobre un campo de oro.

I hadn't slept for seven nights. My mother told me I must have slept, it was impossible not to sleep in all that time, but if I slept, it was with my eyes wide open, for I had followed the green, luminous course of the second hand and the minute hand and the hour hand of the bedside clock through their circles and semi-circles, every night for seven nights, without missing a second, or a minute, or an hour.

It was like the first time I saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward, the cadaver's head--or what there was left of it--floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast... and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadaver's head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar.

It was only after seeing Irwin's study that I decided to seduce him.

It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore. And yet I cannot let it go. I cannot let it go.

As I stared down at Constantin the way you stare down at a bright, unattainable pebble at the bottom of a deep well, his eyelids lifted and he looked through me, and his eyes were full of love. I watched dumbly as a shutter of recognition clicked across the blur of tenderness and the wide pupils went glossy and depthless as patent leather.

I hate it, find it hideous, loathsome. I have built it up to a devouring, malicious monster. I am letting it ruin my whole life. My reason is leaving me, and I want to get out of this.

Intoxicated with madness, I'm in love with my sadness.

Why am I obsessed with the idea I can justify myself by getting manuscripts published? Is it an escape-an excuse for any social failure-so I can say No, I don't go out for many extracurricular activities, but I spend a lot of time writing. Or is it an excuse for wanting to be alone and meditate alone, not having to brave a group of women? (Women in numbers has always disturbed me.)

Still, a fanatic heart will ignore what it does not want to know," said Minasao. "It will excuse even that which cannot be excused in the need to find someone to share its bitterness.

Love. Tired old jokes aside, a real, powerful love does have one thing in common with Hell itself: it burns everything else out of you.

Calcutta has spectacular over-employment. In the West, where we're obsessed with slashing the numbers of workers for the sake of it, we drool at the idea of more, faster computers, fewer humans. But as we struggle to adopt an ever-changing technology, we lose sight of the satisfaction that only a finely tuned human system can provide.

Throw up Victor said. Bacteria, he believed, would run up his arms and gain access to his brain through his ear canals. Vomit. Puke. Spew. Disgorge. Regorge. Discharge- like excrement. Victor, stop it! Doll snapped. You're making me nauseous. Talk--vomit words. Sound and sound alike, he said.

Curse him for being all tight muscle, with ivory skin and a mouth as soft as a rose petals. Curse him for having hair as fair as the sun, and eyes as black as night. Curse him for having the grace of a cat and deft, cool hands.

It's a Stromwing, Ozorne said. I always wanted one.

Azhrarn the Beautiful, said Chuz lovingly, it is your beautiful madness I have come to see.

But what, demanded the jawbones, with sinister insistency, is love?

Cornelia had bemoaned the lack of hair or nail-clipping, even of blood. A notion that she had been close enough to the delicious boy to get all three-biting a piece of him perhaps (God overlook her wickedness), made her effervesce with merriment.

His one weakness was that he was stimulated by his own fear, enjoyed, it, frequently sought it out.

He had a hard face, tanned but sallow, wings of black hair beneath a shaved crown, and a collar of swarthy gold set with gems. But his gaze also clung on Cyrion. It like a lover's look. Or the starving lion as it beholds the deer.

An admirer of female beauty, if not essentially snared by it, he feasted briefly on two smouldering blue coals of eyes, fringed by coal-black lashes. Romulan's eyes, for that matter, and also for that matter, fixed upon Romulan.

The sadistic, rather predictable game was irresistible to him.