Best 453 quotes in «obsession quotes» category

Find a game you like and play it. Play it sixteen hours a day.

For some, like me, writing comes at a price. My best creations were written while I was emotionally ripped open. I've spent some scenes so mentally self-exposed that I could barely see what I was writing. And as I sit here-my heart pounding, heaviness threatening to pull my heart down to my stomach, I ask myself this question...are you ready to bleed some more? I smile and without pause, I pull up my current WIP.

Freedom begins on the other side of obsession.

Girls love each other like animals. There is something ferocious and unself-conscious about it. We don't guard ourselves like we do with boys. No one trains us to shield our hearts from each other. With girls, it's total vulnerability from the beginning. Our skin is bare and soft. We love with claws and teeth and the blood is just proof of how much. It's feral. And it's relentless.

He could quite quickly become detached from the nuances of common human emotion. Particularly if he was engaged in some aspect of a scientific problem or research. His work excluded any consideration for the feelings of those around him. And he rarely excused himself or justified his behavior. It was as if he was compelled to focus all his energy on one subject and was unaware that others did not follow his obsession.

He guided me into the house and walked me to the shower. He ran the water and cared for me as if I was an upset toddler or an elderly person who could no longer care for herself. He washed me hair and gently washed my body, while I cried as if the world was ending. For me, it seemed it was. -The Art of Leaving

He knew for certain that she belonged forever in his arms, just as he knew she didn’t realize it yet.

He loved her in spite of her unlovableness. Armande had many trying, thought not necessarily rare, traits, all of which he accepted as absurd clues in a clever puzzle.

Here is your sign, your omen, Earthling!” said Ra. He suddenly was holding a big clear bag full of golden coins. He turned it upside down and emptied it. The golden coins changed first to dust and then to nothing. “You see, the subject of your obsession changed to dust. In the true reality, money means nothing.

Hermann Boerhaave still defined melancholia as merely "a long persistent delirium without fever, during which the sufferer is obsessed by only one thought.

He smirked. “Decision time, pretty lady... back to reality?” She touched his cheek. “Or down the rabbit hole?

He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.

He was possessed now with that obsession for the cross in which so many lips have worn themselves away on crucifixes.

He would have died rather quickly to not lose track of his wife in the afterlife.

His quest was a wolf, and it starved. - Gansey

His three boats stove around him, and oars and men both whirling in the eddies; one captain, seizing the line-knife from his broken prow, had dashed at the whale, as an Arkansas duellist at his foe, blindly seeking with a six inch blade to reach the fathom-deep life of the whale. That captain was Ahab. And then it was, that suddenly sweeping his sickle-shaped lower jaw benieath him, Moby Dick had reaped away Ahab's leg.

His warmth was her sweet obsession. His smile was her sunshine; his kisses became her addiction.

Holding a precious book meant to Mendel what an assignment with a woman might to another man. These moments were his platonic nights of love. Books had power over him; money never did. Great collectors, including the founder of a collection in Princeton University Library, tried in vain to recruit him as an adviser and buyer for their libraries—Jakob Mendel declined; no one could imagine him anywhere but in the Café Gluck. Thirty-three years ago, when his beard was still soft and black and he had ringlets over his forehead, he had come from the east to Vienna, a crook-backed lad, to study for the rabbinate, but he had soon abandoned Jehovah the harsh One God to give himself up to idolatry in the form of the brilliant, thousand-fold polytheism of books. That was when he had first found his way to the Café Gluck, and gradually it became his workplace, his headquarters, his post office, his world. Like an astronomer alone in his observatory, studying myriads of stars every night through the tiny round lens of the telescope, observing their mysterious courses, their wandering multitude as they are extinguished and then appear again, so Jakob Mendel looked through his glasses out from that rectangular table into the other universe of books, also eternally circling and being reborn in that world above our own.

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

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

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.

... 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.

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 »)

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

..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?

Finia glanced towards her bedroom, wishing the darkness would swallow her whole.

Follow the ideal doing, grind the beans just before brewing. Use spring water, for softened water, makes a horror. A parley perfect, between the coffee, and the milk, with some, brown sugar thick.” (Poem: An apology of a coffee lunatic, Book: Ginger and Honey)

Guys like you can't escape the city. Hell, you a got a blood contract with this place. You're married to the old girl.

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 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 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