Quotes About Obsession

There must be reasons why we men are so hipped on breasts as if we'd all been weaned too soon.

Perché ella voleva partire? Perché ella voleva spezzare l'incanto? I loro destini ormai non erano legati per sempre? Egli aveva bisogno di lei per vivere, degli occhi, della voce, del pensiero di lei... egli era tutto penetrato da quell'amore, aveva tutto il sangue alterato come da un veleno, senza rimedio. Perché ella voleva fuggire? Egli si sarebbe avviticchiato a lei, l'avrebbe prima soffocata sul suo petto. No, non poteva essere... Mai! Mai!

He followed the glances of some of them like a ray of love directed at a woman seated somewhere, engrossed in her own thoughts, made languorous by secret delights and softened in some impure way, with a snow-white face in which her mouth opened like a hive damp with honey.

That Woman is in love with her own grief.

But Sadie knew it was easy to get addicted to the taste of your own carnage.

Generally, obsessively, licking her wounds. What a funny turn of phrase, she thought. Licking your wounds would only make them worse, no? The mouth was filled with so much bacteria.

loathe collectible books anyway. People getting all moony over particular paper carcasses. It's the ideas that matter, man.

I loathe collectible books anyway. People getting all moony over particular paper carcasses. It's the ideas that matter, man. The words

I loathe collectible books anyway. People getting all moony over particular paper carcasses. It's the ideas that matter, man. The words," Daniel Parish says.

I suspect it may be like the difference between a drinker and an alcoholic; the one merely reads books, the other needs books to make it through the day.

Pearl spent the passing days buried so deep in the musty, dusty sorcery tomes that sometimes when she emerged, she spoke in archaic english. "Hast thou a light?" she'd asked him this afternoon when her study room had grown dark with gathering clouds.

Huh. Redheads. What is it about redheads?

She reached into an alabaster box and pulled out a violet cigarette that also exactly matched her eyes. Some people just don't know when to quit. She lit her colored coffin nail, set it into an ashtray, and promptly forgot about it. It smoldered into eternity silently begging for one more touch from her gorgeous lips.

The reason we shouldn't pursue balance is that the magic never happens in the middle; magic happens at the extremes.

Contempt is conceived with expectations. Respect is conceived with expressions of gratitude. We can choose which one we will obsess over-expectations, or thanksgivings. That choice will result in a birth-and the child will be named either contempt, or respect.

Contempt is conceived with expectations. Respect is conceived with expressions of gratitude. We can choose which one we will obsess over—expectations, or thanksgivings.

I like that more, there's something weird about boys who are That obsessive they're not carrying an ounce of fat.

Oh. Sorry. I just kinda have a thing for cabinets. And chests. And caskets, trunks, crates, cartons... all kinds of boxes, I guess.

I'm sorry! I just... I have this thing about opening stuff. I see a door or a lid that's closed, I just gotta open it! Our family therapist says I'm obsessive-compulsive.

Know that it is a corpse who loves you and adores you and will never, never leave you!...Look, I am not laughing now, crying, crying for you, Christine, who have torn off my mask and who therefore can never leave me again!...Oh, mad Christine, who wanted to see me!

Tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead." - Christine, from Gaston Leroux's: The Phantom of the Opera.

And, despite the care which she took to look behind her at every moment, she failed to see a shadow which followed her like her own shadow, which stopped when she stopped, which started again when she did and which made no more noise than a well-conducted shadow should.

I love a lot of things, and I'm pretty much obsessive about most things I do, whether it be gardening, or architecture, or music. I'd be an obsessive hairdresser.

To remember everything is a form of madness.