Best 453 quotes in «obsession quotes» category

Some good shit happens fast (a bestselling book), and some good shit happens slow (love).

Some men are like that - they get a woman in their mind, and that's that. They will destroy themselves and everyone else over her; they will let everything else fall apart.

Some never escape from the imprisoning conviction that a cold or unattainable lover can be persuaded to become warm or attainable if they only discover the key.

Some thoughts are too angry to sleep. They lie awake all night and become obsessions.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot why I'm doing this. I want to be bigger. I want to be better. I want to need no one

Strength and victory... What he would never praise himself for, but whose loss was his most obsessive fear.

Suppose you stop writing, painting, believing in God, whatever you obsession is. Wouldn't you survive? Wouldn't you find something else?

Suppose you stopped writing, painting, believing in God, whatever your obsession is. Wouldn't you survive? Wouldn't you find something else?

Suppose you stop writing, painting, believing in God, whatever your obsession is. Won't you survive? Won't you find something else?

That afternoon was the first time I felt... I don't know how to describe it exactly. My head was in Dad's lap and all the happiness that I'd missed was being compressed into that moment. I looked up at him and I was no longer me. I was Mom, but not as I knew her. This wasn't her forcing her darkness on me, like a bag over my head. No, this was something else. I'd become Mom from many years ago. Dad felt it too, I could tell. Maybe it would have lasted longer if not for Edie, talking and talking, pressing and pressing. She wanted to take me back to the other mother. The one in the mental hospital who needed me brought to her, tied and quartered, like a sacrifice.

Sweet Goddess! she thought suddenly. I have never even spoken to him. I know nothing about the man, nothing at all. What if he tries to get me into some sordid little room and force himself on me, like an animal? How will I fight him off? All alone, not able to cry for help? No, it will not be like that, it could not be. I would have known if he were that kind of man, and felt repelled. He could not sing and write such beautiful verses, and look so fine if he were not the man I want him to be. Yes, when we meet, it will be as it is in his songs. He will obey, do exactly what I tell him and no more. Oh, I have hoped so long for this. Goddess of Love, let it be beautiful.

That girl has done things to your head.' He pats my back, 'Don’t pretend she’s not crawling inside of yours.

The Arab poet Silm Al Khaser wrote “He who watches people dies of worry” and his words have never been more potent than in today’s world where all people do is watch others and cater to them in return.

The beauty of love is that it demands to be two sided, otherwise its nothing but another obsession.

The fans are always more radical than that which they are fans.

The exhausted mind is obsession's easiest prey.

The lady laughed a little laugh and said, “A man with a strong body as yours is not capable of doing anything more than showing a few shiny pieces of cloth? Where is the obsession of the moth that hurtles itself into the flame out of devotion?” “Show me first the wick that burns itself to light the room, Ma’m?

The first time I saw you, my heart fell. The second time I saw you, my heart fell. The third time fourth time fifth time and every time since, my heart has fallen. I stared at her. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your hair, your eyes, your lips, your body that you haven't grown into, the way you walk, smile, laugh, the way your cheeks drop when you're mad or upset, the way you drag your feet when you're tired. Every single thing about you is beautiful. I stared at her. When I see you the World stops. It stops and all that exists for me is you and my eyes staring at you. There's nothing else. No noise, no other people, no thoughts or worries, no yesterday, no tomorrow. The World just stops and it is a beautiful place and there is only you. Just you, and my eyes staring at you. I stared. When you're gone, the World starts again, and I don't like it as much. I can live in it, but I don't like it. I just walk around in it and wait to see you again and wait for it to stop again. I love it when it stops. It's the best fucking thing I've ever known or ever felt, the best thing, and that, beautiful Girl, is why I stare at you.

The giving of undue prominence to one fact brings others inexorably on the head of the student to avenge his neglect of them,

The obsession with the afterlife is born of a panic at not having memories of a before-life.

The love object occupies the thoughts of the person diagnosed as 'in love' all the time despite the probability that very little is actually known about it. To it are ascribed all qualities considered by the obsessed as good, regardless of whether the object in question possesses those qualities in any degree. Expectations are set up which no human being could fulfill. Thus the object chosen plays a special role in relation to the go of the obsessed, who decided that he or she is the right or the only person for him. In the case of a male this notion may sanction a degree of directly aggressive behavior either in pursuing the object or driving off competition.

The more you care, the more you fear.

The one thing I do know is that Miki is obsessed with me, maybe in his own fucked up way he loves me. He won’t let me go and in the end that will kill him…- Shi

There have been men in arid deserts where the sun has so disfigured them that they have become things of horror – parched and blackened, twisted and torn. Their eyes run blood, their tongues are bitten through – and then they come upon water. I know, because I was one of their number.

The past was "built", the present is "assembled" & the future - "programmed"!

The pleasure I found in reading books was disconcerting...I felt anxious about every new piece of information. I would latch onto one particular detail and start look for references and other versions of it in other writings. I remembered, for example, that for quite some time I tracked down the subject of kissing. I read and read and felt dizzy with the subject, as if I had eaten a psychotropic fruit.

The only man who is truly happy is a man who has an idée fixe. It takes up his every minute, fills any empty spaces in his thought, sneaks unexpected pleasures into his boredom, gives direction to his idle hours, again and again enlivens the stagnant waters of existence with a surging current.

There is more to life than making a living. Do not work more than you live.

There's no talent here, this is hard work. This is an obsession. Talent does not exist, we are all equals as human beings. You could be anyone if you put in the time. You will reach the top, and that's that. I am not talented. I am obsessed.

There's a theme that appears in much of your work," I say to Maurice on my last visit to Connecticut, "and I can only hint at it because it's difficult to formulate or describe. It has something to do with the lines: 'As I went over the water/the water went over me' [from As I Went over the Water] or 'I'm in the milk and the milk's in me' [from Night Kitchen]." "Obviously I have one theme, and it's even in the book I'm working on right now. It's not that I have such original ideas, just that I'm good at doing variations on the same idea over and over again. You can't imagine how relieved I was to find out that Henry James admitted he had only a couple of themes and that all of his books were based on them. That's all we need as artists - one power-driven fantasy or obsession, then to be clever enough to do variations… like a series of variations by Mozart. They're so good that you forget they're based on one theme. The same things draw me, the same images…" "What is this one obsession?" "I'm not about to tell you - not because it's a secret, but because I can't verbalize it." "There's a line by Bob Dylan in 'Just Like a Woman' which talks about being 'inside the rain.'" "Inside the rain?" "When it's raining outside," I explain, "I often feel inside myself, as if I were inside the rain… as if the rain were my self. That's the sense I get from Dylan's image and from your books as well." "It's strange you say that," Maurice answers, "because rain has become one of the potent images of my new book. It sort of scares me that you mentioned that line. Maybe that's what rain means. It's such an important ingredient in this new work, and I've never understood what it meant. There was a thing about me and rain when I was a child: if I could summon it up in one sentence, I'd be happy to. It's such connected tissue…

The rest of the short walk was silent. It was that loud sort of silence where the absence is painful, when there’s so much to say, but nothing is said.

The teeth!—the teeth!—they were here, and there, and everywhere, and visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about them, as in the very moment of their first terrible development.

They were just boys. Take away the band, the lights, the fame, and the screaming girls, and they were just boys, chosen for us to obsess over.

The thought of her gave me such a continual anguish that I could no more forget her than an aching tooth. It was involuntary, hopeless, compulsive. For years she had been the first thing I remembered when I woke up, the last thing that drifted through my mind as I went to sleep, and during the day she came to me obtrusively, obsessively, always with a painful shock.

The trouble with entering the upper echelon is you have to work harder to stay there.

The world shrinks to include only two people, only one of whom -- the beloved -- has power. This inequitable distribution naturally breeds resentment and feelings of hopelessness that the dependent person dare not express for fear of alienating the necessary person even more.

They know too well the violent hypnosis of those who hope to possess them-- men who can smell the blood on the places where a woman is breaking.

This form of love is like the pain of childbirth: so intense it's hard to remember afterwards,

...the true test of the perversity of a pleasure is that it occupies a disproportionate amount of the attention.

Those who cannot have your love, will gladly accept your hatred.

This obsession is a curious thing. Sometimes wonder about the merits of devoting so much of myself to a singular climbing objective. Much of the time it beats me down, leaves me hanging my head in despair. But then there are the moments that bring me to life. When excitement wells up inside my chest in a way that doesn’t happen in every day life. Today my fingertips were cracked and bleeding. I made no progress despite great conditions. Now I am on the ground and can hardly contain my excitement to get back on the wall. It’s a crazy rollercoaster and I owe my family and partners a great deal for encouraging me through it all.

This wasn't the last of it. Now that Finia was carrying his baby, they would be together forever, whether she liked it or not.

Thomas finally tired of playing with me mentally and moved into phase two of his obsession to rid himself of me. I was informed continually that resistance would be futile, and there was no way to escape

Truth: last week I online shopped too much. Then I ate 2 pounds of jelly beans to feel better about that. In fact, while I was trying to read soul-nourishing things all I could think about was shopping and jellybeans. Points to the monkey mind.

Thus unto winter’s chill embrace I turn Who once the summer’s sun did blithely bide ‘Neath solemn visage cold and fair and stern In her cool breast my hot heart to confide. Denied the warmth and wit of summer’s sun Or springtime’s strength, and bright, melodious song I dreamed not to complete what I’d begun Nor dared to haste the laggard hours along. But now with spring and summer sun at rest Laid bare before bright winter’s pale charms I would for love of her lay down my quest And take my ease in Winter-Lady’s arms. Before her beauty fair ‘neath snow-swept sky All other seasons blanch and fade, and die. - The Lost Knight's Lament, "Winter's Lady" (Forthcoming)

To have the beginning of a truly great story, you need to have a character you're completely and utterly obsessed with. Without obsession, to the point of a maddening addiction,there's no point to continue.

To muse for long unwearied hours with my attention riveted to some frivolous device upon the margin, or in the typography of a book — to become absorbed for the better part of a summer's day in a quaint shadow falling aslant upon the tapestry, or upon the floor — to lose myself for an entire night in watching the steady flame of a lamp, or the embers of a fire — to dream away whole days over the perfume of a flower — to repeat monotonously some common word, until the sound, by dint of frequent repetition, ceased to convey any idea whatever to the mind — to lose all sense of motion or physical existence in a state of absolute bodily quiescence long and obstinately persevered in — Such were a few of the most common and least pernicious vagaries induced by a condition of the mental faculties, not, indeed, altogether unparalleled, but certainly bidding defiance to any thing like analysis or explanation.

Time didn’t heal my heal wounds but it lent me perspective. My vision was no longer clouded and I saw what I’d become. I’d let inspiration become obsession. Tunnel vision had hindered all progress. I was so fixated on you, I got stuck.

Walau Migdal Bavel dibangun oleh berbagai manusia, tapi tak ada yang mau mengalah jika ia bisa mencuri satu kunci akses surga. Tak ada yang mau hanya menjadi manusia. Semuanya ingin menjadi orang tertinggi, tersuci, teralim dan berpengaruh di Sennaar.

Voleva toccare quella donna. Voleva sporcare la pelle di Eleanor con la promessa di baci che l’avrebbero segnata dentro, dove nessuno avrebbe mai potuto leggere quanto profondamente il conte l’avesse marchiata come sua.