Best 453 quotes in «obsession quotes» category

How dare she not give in to his "vulnerability." There was only so much rejection he could take.

How does a person exist after their world has been torn to pieces? It must be possible. People do it all the time. After all the floods and tornadoes and wars that have hit the world with inexorable violence, people somehow scrape up their lives and begin again.

Human beings had two basic orientations: HAVING and BEING HAVING: seeks to acquire, posses things even people BEING: focuses on the experience; exchanging, engaging, sharing with other people

I am obsessed with not being obsessed with acquiring material things.

I am obsessed with reading and writing.

I am the Lone Wolf and the Moon is mine.

I am who I am! Weird , impatient, imperfect! I think it's good !

I am the scourge of God

I began to understand that the most worthwhile obsession is an obsession that is actually independent of the object of fixation. The object is only borrowed as a pretext, a means, an environment, through which or in which the obsessed person can project his own eternal and essential hunger, thus fulfilling the requirements of death--the dissolution of the ego for something, anything, that exists independently outside of one's self. Perhaps that obsession should be controlled. At some point the most mundane catalyst, a skirt or fallen leaf, is enough to provoke a series of captivating chain reactions, while at another time much more important objects will inspire only an absurd indifference.

I believe we give feelings permission to live in our hearts by whether we choose to think upon such things or not. The more we think about certain matters the greater impact they effect, until they can tend to obsess us.

I can remember only one thing. I want to be bigger. I want to be better. I want - people -, to need me.

Celebrity obsession is often emotionally and logistically shackling to the country’s most prominent and successful people, and this ultimately hinders those wealthy, powerful, and celebrated people from being the nodes of evolution and progress they should actually be for the culture at large.

I’d once again see that bob of blonde hair back on my pillow, that pink hot smile beaming toward me as I heroically win her heart in some kind of Count of Monte Cristo or Great Gatsby-esque gesture… you know minus the long imprisonment or swimming pool death!

I don't ever dream about you and me I don't ever make up stuff about us That would be considered insanity I don't ever drive by your house To see if you're in I don't even have an opinion On that tramp that you are still seeing I don't know your timetable I don't know your face off by heart But I must admit that there's still a part of me That thinks we might get on

I don't believe outstandingly beautiful and charismatic women create obsession in what would otherwise be normal men, but rather they attract the weirdos and the stalkers; flames in the darkness that these disturbing people inhabit, unwittingly drawing them closer until they extinguish the very flame they were drawn to.

I don’t want to say it, I truly don’t, but if you’ve gone this far I suppose it’s obvious that what was ignited when I loved you continues to burn. But that’s of small importance to you now, and that’s how it should be. Everything is in its place. The past rests, breathing faintly in the darkness. It no longer holds me as it used to; now I must reach back to touch it. It is night and I am alone and there is still time, a moment more. I am standing on a long black stage, with a circle of light on me, which is my love for you, enduring. I have escaped—or have been expelled—from eternity and am back in time. But I step out once more to sing this aria, this confession, this testament without end. My arms open wide, not to embrace you but to embrace the world, the mystery we are caught in. There is no orchestra, no audience; it is an empty theater in the middle of the night and all the clocks in the world are ticking. And now for this last time, Jade, I don’t mind, or even ask if it is madness: I see your face, I see you, you; I see you in every seat.

I don't possess these thoughts I have --- they possess me. I don't possess these feelings I have --- They obsess me.

....I'd rather travel in Cargo-nanoships than a Bullet-train to reach my target.

I don't know what you're expecting, but ultimately, most people in high school have this obsession with the 'high schooler' you often seen in fiction, so they put on an act in an attempt to become that. And it just leaves you cold.

... I fell in love with him even more, because I realized I was not just falling in love with Taymour but also with generations of him that connect through history, traits that had been passed down from one generation to the next. I was in love with his ancestry that stretched out for centuries.

I feel something familiar about this place. This house…” I dragged out a hand and gestured towards it with my thumb. “I dream about it. I’ve been dreaming about it for years. Being in it.” I had her attention. “With you.

If it weren‘t for Asperger‘s and obsessions there would be no Theory of Relativity, no Magic Flute, no Microsoft…and no Ghost Busters.

If I blink she'll disappear," he told her. She looked at him and said,"Maybe that is the best thing for you.

If lighthouse becomes a burning candle, flickered upon ocean's insanity. Your sailing heart there anchors to handle the obsessed breeze towards sand dune's vanity.

If Niall could see Marianne, he would say: don’t tell me. You like her. It’s true she is Connell’s type, maybe even the originary model of the type: elegant, bored-looking, with an impression of perfect self-assurance. And he’s attracted to her, he can admit that. After these months away from home, life seems much larger, and his personal dramas less significant. He’s not the same anxious, repressed person he was in school, when his attraction to her felt terrifying, like an oncoming train, and he threw her under it.

If happiness is a hardwired obsession in our brains, one should first and foremost learn to foster an upright quest for unvarnished wellbeing and above all not give in to vain temptations of displaying counterfeit contentment and fake smiling. (Digging for white gold »)

I invented you the way I like but I have fallen for you the way you are.

If someone even mentions his name it is like a little present to me - and I long to mention it myself. I start subjects leading up to it, and then I feel myself going red. I keep swearing to myself not to speak to him again - and then an opportunity occurs and I jump at it!

If you become obsessed with someone else, you lose yourself.

If you love sex, let it be known. You don’t have to walk around downtown naked or have some flyers printed up, but definitely don’t be shy about your love (or obsession) for sex.

I knew well therefore what would be my father’s feelings, but I could not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection until the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature, should be completed.

..if you put people on a diet, they start thinking about food. Or if you make someone stop smoking, all they think about is cigarettes. It seems logical enough to me that if you tell a person he can't have sex, he's going to be obsessive about the subject. Then to give him the power to tell other people how to run their sex lives, well, that's just asking for trouble. In a way, it's like having a blind person teach Art History, isn't it?

I had possessed her - and she never knew it.

I just think that 'dating' is an engagement and not 'fun'." Emily says.

I like the relaxed way in which the Japanese approach religion. I think of myself as basically a moral person, but I'm definitely not religious, and I'm very tired of the preachiness and obsession with other people's behavior characteristic of many religious people in the United States. As far as I could tell, there's nothing preachy about Buddhism. I was in a lot of temples, and I still don't know what Buddhists believe, except that at one point Kunio said 'If you do bad things, you will be reborn as an ox.' This makes as much sense to me as anything I ever heard from, for example, the Reverend Pat Robertson.

Ingo was a fever, and so far she hadn't found the antidote.

I long for the day I no longer long for him.

I may be 65 tomorrow, but i have no plans to 'let go. My psychiatrist asked me the same thing. He said he wanted to give me a pill so I wouldn’t obsess so much over momentary things. I told him I don’t want a pill. I want an answer.

I needed them, sure, and we can all argue about the moment when the balance tipped and I needed them so much that I would hurt. But you can't pretend they didn't need me too, each in his or her way. They wouldn't necessarily have admitted it - except Reza - but you can't tell me they didn't love me. The heart knows. The body knows. When I was with Sirena, or Reza, or Skandar, the air moved differently between us; time passed differently; words or gestures meant more than themselves. If you've never had this experience-but who has not been visited by love, laughing?-then you can't understand. And if you have, you don't need me to say another word.

I never noticed anything but you But you but you So that I couldn't sleep

I may not know quite what you are, but I know what you are not… You are not the kind who leaves my mind and is easily forgot.

I'm not saying you are jealous or insecure. I'm just saying that you obsessing over another person's accomplishments makes you look that way.

In his fight against the powers of the surrounding world his first weapon was magic, the first forerunner of our modern technology. We suppose that this confidence in magic is derived from the over-estimation of the individual’s own intellectual operations, from the belief in the ‘omnipotence of thoughts’, which, incidentally, we come across again in our obsessional neurotics.

In recent months, the emotional aspect has become as necessary to me as the physical. It amuses me, this strange quirk of mine. I want my little captive to love me, to care about me. I want to be more than just the monster of her nightmares.

I often stood and stared into those tunnels and thought about what happened there; how I was separated from it only by time." - The Procession

Interest is never enough. If it doesn't haunt you, you'll never write it well. What haunts and obsesses you may, with luck and labour, interest your readers. What merely interests you is sure to bore them. (from Workbook)

In this connection I must mention too a not altogether rational idea which I had nourished more or less vaguely for a long time: the notion that before I could achieve greatness as a writer I would have to pass through some ordeal. For this ordeal I had waited in vain. Even total war (I was never in uniform) failed to ruffle my life. I seemed doomed to quietness.

I possess so much, but my love for her absorbs it all. I possess so much, but without her I have nothing.

I realized that I was okay with myself. I was quirky and withdrawn and loud, but I liked that. I smiled at strangers without thinking they were going to attack me and drag me into their cars. I went to doctors’ offices and touched magazines that had been touched by sick people.

I suppose you'd have to say that my interest in the subject fell somewhere between the Land of Hobbies and the Kingdom of Obsession.