Quotes About Obsession

Papá, es que yo quiero estar siempre en el cine, quiero vivir en el cine...

Si te marchas, haré un muñeco de cera, con tu rostro, con tu cuerpo, y le clavaré alfileres negros, todas las noches, todas las noches. [...] Nunca vivirás en paz. Nunca vivirás en paz. Llenaré de alfileres tu corazón...

No one seemed to understand. I'd go to movies, see friends, but after a couple days I'd catch myself reading plane schedules, looking for something, someplace to go: a bomb in Afghanistan, a flood in Haiti. I'd become a predator, endlessly gliding in saltwater seas, searching for the scent of blood.

Photography and the cinema on the other hand are discoveries that satisfy, once and for all and in its very essence, our obsession with realism. No matter how skillful the painter, his work was always in fee to an inescapable subjectivity. The fact that a human hand intervened cast a shadow of doubt over the image.

It was redeemed from sin by Niepce and Lumière. In achieving the aims of baroque art, photography has freed the plastic arts from their obsession with likeness.

In a world already once again obsessed by terror and hate, in which reality is scarely any longer favored for its own sake but rather is rejected or excluded as a political symbol, the Italian cinema is certainly the only one which preserves, in the midst of the period it depicts, a revolutionary humanism.

Surrealism does not allow those who devote themselves to it to forsake it whenever they like. There is every reason to believe that it acts on the mind very much as drugs do; like drugs, it creates a state of need and can push man to frightful revolts.

Puis, soudain, se plaçant devant moi, m'arrêtant presque, avec cette manière extraordinaire de m'appeler, comme on appellerait quelqu'un, de salle en salle, dans un château vide: "André? André?... Tu écriras un roman sur moi. Je t'assure. Ne dis pas non. Prends garde, tout s'affaiblit, tout disparait. De nous il faut que quelque chose reste...""-Nadja

I do not love men: I love what devours them.

There is no absurdity or contradiction to which passion may not lead a man. When love or hate takes control, reason must submit and then discover justifications for their folly.

Painting was forced, as it turned out, to offer us illusion and this illusion was reckoned sufficient unto art. Photography and the cinema on the other hand are discoveries that satisfy, once and for all and in its very essence, our obsession with realism.

He loved books as other men love women, or opium, or tobacco: they were as a soothing drug to make him forget life.

Non che abbia raggiunto una qualche forma di distacco filosofico: le basta tirare fuori il cellulare dallo zainetto e rileggere per l'ennesima volta gli ultimi tre messaggi di Seamus per avere la prova che non è così.

You could waste your whole life worrying, you know that?

Tea. Why are the Brits so obsessed with tea? Anything happens... "Put the kettle on." A death in the family. "Put the kettle on." Tornado. "Put the kettle on." Nuclear war. "Put the kettle on.

America as a European obsession has a long, complex relationship, one constantly vacillating between flashes of adoration and profound antipathy.

My first, and most lasting, addiction has always been to the obsessive study of any matter that took hold of my curiosity.

She had what I'd call a lemming ass - that is, an ass that you would follow right over the edge of the cliff.

logic is useless in the face of obsession

They were bound together by a common love of a certain kind of music, physical beauty, and style—all the things one shouldn't throw away an ounce of energy pursuing, and sometimes throw away a life pursuing.

He had the misfortune to fall in love with a thug, who has threatened to kill Malone simply because Malone no longer loves him and was foolish enough to say so. Latins, my dear, are the only ones who take love seriously. Malone is now being chased around Manhattan by knives and bullets. He never has sex.

He was a prisoner of love.

But Malone continued standing there, within the house of flesh, the Temple of Priapus, staring out at that sparkling snowfall. That was it. That was Malone - standing in the crush of voluptuous limbs, enthralled by the cold, lonely, deserted street.

'Twilight' passed like a fever through the sophisticated reader and the unsophisticated reader alike. People devoured those books in single sittings, over weekends, with a kind of raw intensity that is rare.