Quotes About Obsession

Dans Horizons rouges, j'ai essayé de peindre la vie quotidienne à la cour d'un dictateur communiste. CeauÈ™escu rêve d'être vénéré comme un nouveau Roi-Soleil, être reconnu par l'Histoire comme le Napoléon roumain et sa femme fait des efforts désespérés pour être considérée comme la déesse roumaine de la sagesse et de l'élégance. (Préface à l'édition française)

Yes! It must be done by showing contrasts: one word for misery, ten for egotism, cowardice, closing ranks, crime. Won't it be wonderful! But it's true that it's this very atmosphere I'm breathing. It is easy to imagine it: the obsession with food.

Either people would think only about being able to survive and there would be no place for Art, or they would become obsessed by a new ideal, as after every crisis before. A new ideal? A new fashion, more like, he thought with cynicism and weariness. But he, Corte, was too old to adapt to new tastes. He had already changed his style in 1920. A third time would be impossible. It exhausted him just to think about what was to come, what kind of world was about to be born.

Your infatuation will end in tears.

I've thought about nothing else but you.

I am sorry that our friendship, or whatever name one may give to the obsessive relationship which has bound us together for so many years, should end in this way. This is not the place to utter its elegy.

You know when things get inside you and you can't stop going round and round the same piece of misery.

This figure, which I had so vaguely, idly, noticed before was now utterly changed in my eyes. The whole world was its background. And between me and it there hovered, perhaps for the last time, the vision of a slim long-legged girl with gleaming thighs. I ran.

There can scarcely be anything worse than surviving something which shatters your mind and leaves you obsessed with revenge.

I have always wanted to kill you, all my life led to that blow. Jealousy and hatred compose my earliest memories. I have killed you every day in my thoughts.

It was all very simple. I just loved her. I couldn't stop. I haven't stopped. Oh God.

But she felt that she had to see him or she would die.

I have always wanted to kill you, ever since the moment when I learnt of your existence.

There had been a slaughter of all my other interests, and upon the strange white open scene of the future only one thing remained.

And oh, when we still used to sleep together, lying awake at night and finding one's only consolation in imagining in detail how one would go downstairs and find a hatchet and smash one's partners head in and mash it into a bloody pudding on the pillow!

I've got to see you, I've got to talk about her, I shall go mad.

She's also in love with the 'Polish Rider'. Who's he? A picture by Rembrandt.

don't let jesus in. AA is just one obsession replaced with another

The dead man is on the trolley and the woman collapses across his chest. That's what the ghouls want a shufti at, like at that Princess Diana's funeral, they want to scrutinise those who really knew her, to drink the misery out of their faces.

Since he was sixteen, he had been continuously sexually active, either with a girlfriend or through a series of casual flings. From the point of someone like Kibby, he considered, he would be regarded as highly succesful with women. But the real problem is relationships, which fucking social retards like Kibby can't grasp, because they're just so obsessed with getting their hole.

She's so fucking beautiful it don't bear thinking about. I could hardly keep my eyes on the fucking road. I sort of felt like I was wasting time whenever I wasn't looking at her face.

Ye see, Rab, it's due to the way we feel about our arseholes. We now believe, as a species, if our soul is located anywhere in our bodies, it's up our arses. That's where it all goes. It makes sense. That's why we're obsessed with anal jokes, anal sex, anal hobbies... the arsehole – not the brain, not space – is the last frontier. That's what makes us revolutionaries.

It was only a remote portion of his mind that heard and answered the girl. The rest of him was soaking up her beauty with the passionate thirst of a man who has drunk too long at a celibate well.

Harlan gazed at Noÿs and his thoughts wound tightly about her. What would she