Best 453 quotes in «obsession quotes» category

I remember you only rarely And your fate I do not view But the mark won't be stripped from my soul Of the meaningless meeting with you. Your red house I avoid on purpose, Your red house murky river beside, But I know, that I am disturbing Gravely your heart-pierced respite. Would it weren't you that, on to my lips pressing, Prayed of love, and for love did wish, Would it weren't you that with golden verses Immortalized my anguish. Over future I do secret magic If the evening is truly blue, And I divine a second meeting, Unavoidable meeting with you.

I see you running all the time, running, always running. Stop running and look around, you might just find what you looking for. Don’t drown yourself trying to learn how to swim. Know when enough is enough. Don’t quit but take a break every now and then. It’s not necessary for you to have all the answers right now. It’s not necessary for you to know everything. All you are doing is developing an obsession, an addiction in trying to perfect yourself. You are hurting yourself with everything you are trying to know. Some times it’s best just to do nothing and to know nothing.

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.

It happened to some people, that obsession with throwing their clothes off at an age when it would be best to keep them on.

I think of you so incessantly, so insistently. The thought of you is always there. It lies hidden, a latency, in the most unlikely things and places, ready at the command of some chance association to jump out at me from its ambush.

It is amazing to think of how little it takes to make a girl, of a certain age and artistic temperament, believe she is in love.

It is easy to identify a shallow person by the attention he gives to what will do him absolutely no good.

It is in his obsessions that mankind most closely resembles his machines.

It is in the nature of man to want what he does not have. This modern concern for happiness seems a real testimony of its absence.

It is only by seeing beauty in everything that we can see it in any one single thing, day after day. Don't run into the arms of obsession, for that quickly fades. Long lasting love comes from an open, loving heart.

I touched you and my life stopped

It looks like you're mocking me as if I am a girl who still believes in Santa Claus." Emily says.

It's almost relaxing to know I'll die fairly soon, as it's a comfort not to obsess about my next orgasm.

It's all about Perfection or the tolerance of Imperfection

It's nothing serious," he said. "It's just an obsession.

It seems to me that evil is a kind of ultimate greed, a greed that is so all-encompassing that it can't ever see anything lovely, rare, or precious without wanting to possess it. A greed so total that if it can't possess these things, it will destroy them rather than chance that someone else might have them. And a greed so intense that even having these things never causes it to lessen one iota -- the lovely, the rare and the precious never affect it except to make it want them.

It's hard to explain how an infatuation actually starts. It's a state so all-encompassing that it's almost impossible to remember how it felt to live inside your own head before it began. Everything that precedes it becomes a pathway that was always leading there. Time before is valuable only as a resource with which to create a persona, to bind the object of the infatuation closer. I had given my (partially fabricated) past life to Mizuko to make a story that in the end never got told. Or not by her. It is also hard to explain the intensity of the infatuation itself. There is rarely an explanation that seems reasonable to anyone but you. Unless you're part of a cult or viral phenomenon, so that when you weep outside the object of your infatuation's hotel room, you do so in the company of millions.

... it’s you. You with that bloody obsession, that love of other that runs like a seam of gold through you. That life unlike any other. That wild, endless curiosity. Obsession. Even that maddening fucking code of honor. All of it. You, Benedict. You–

It's not worth staying up all night just to paint masterpieces.

It's people with obsessions who do the real harm in the world.

It started with feelings of jealousy and like a mental virus it spread.

It takes a lot of effort for an obsessive mind to accept the fact that everything is in order except itself.

It was as if I were an oyster and somebody forced a grain of sand into my shell -- a grain of sand that I didn't know was there and didn't particularly welcome. Then a pearl started forming around the grain and it irritated me, made me angry, tortured me sometimes. But the oyster can't help becoming obsessed with the pearl.

It was an obsession, it was a compulsion. "The way to banish temptation is to give into it," the saying went. Maybe if she experienced a gangbang, it wouldn't be such a big deal, and would no longer be the focus of her sexual imagination.

It was as if I had only just been able to see colours and shapes for the first time. I was so enthralled with the buttons on Lestat's black coat that I looked at nothing else for a long time.

It was gentler here, softer, its seethe the quietest of whispers, as if, in deference to a drawing room, it had quite deliberately put on its 'manners'; it kept itself out of sight, obliterated itself, but distinctly with an air of saying, 'Ah, but just wait! Wait till we are alone together! Then I will begin to tell you something new! Something white! something cold! something sleepy! something of cease, and peace, and the long bright curve of space! Tell them to go away. Banish them. Refuse to speak. Leave them, go upstairs to your room, turn out the light and get into bed - I will go with you, I will be waiting for you, I will tell you a better story than Little Kay of the Skates, or The Snow Ghost - I will surround your bed, I will close the windows, pile a deep drift against the door, so that none will ever again be able to enter. Speak to them!...' It seemed as if the little hissing voice came from a slow white spiral of falling flakes in the corner by the front window - but he could not be sure. ("Silent Snow, Secret Snow")

It was funny how obsessed people believed others equally obsessed, or even interested.

I've always loved Halloween: the one day of the year when you can blatantly dress as your number-one obsession and people will smile instead of snicker.

I've thought about nothing else but you.

I've written of you so often I think I've made you immortal.

I wanted it for how it made me feel, regardless of how little it cared for me. Do whatever you want -- just give me the bliss.

I wait on my fix: I am a poetry junkie.

I was deluded, and I knew it. Worse: my love for Pippa was muddied-up below the waterline with my mother, with my mother's death, with losing my mother and not being able to get her back. All that blind, infantile hunger to save and be saved, to repeat the past and make it different, had somehow attached itself, ravenously, to her. There was an instability in it, a sickness. I was seeing things that weren't there. I was only one step away from some trailer park loner stalking a girl he'd spotted in the mall. For the truth of it was: Pippa and I saw each other maybe twice a year; we e-mailed and texted, though with no great regularity; when she was in town we loaned each other books and went to the movies; we were friends; nothing more. My hopes for a relationship with her were wholly unreal, whereas my ongoing misery, and frustration, were an all-too-horrible reality. Was groundless, hopeless, unrequited obsession any way to waste the rest of my life?

I wasn’t obsessed with him until I felt him fading. But maybe I was always obsessed, I just didn’t feel the anxiety of it until the trust was gone.

I was obsessed. I couldn't stop myself. It was not healthy, but I couldn't stop. I didn't feel like there was anything else in my life to stop for. We all have periods of our life when we're trapped doing something we hate and we develop habits that have nothing to do with our long-term goals to fill the downtime, right? I hope you identify with that idea. It's the only way I can explain becoming so emotionally invested in a video game that I would get in my car and drive around town sobbing if my internet went out.

I was told I have obsessive behavioral traits. I looked up everything to do with obsession after that.

I will be with her again, or I will die. There aren’t any other options

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.

I will take what I can from Edward. And then I will let them fade into history, all the characters in this drama. Emma Matthews and the men who loved her, who became obsessed with her. They're not important to us now.

I wonder if whoever invented World of Warcraft realizes it’s practice for sociopaths.

I wonder what children whose parents have money think about in their spare time.

Live for your obsession, that you are meant to be. Die for your passion, that you are born to be.

Live for your obsession you are meant to be. Die for your passion you are born to be.

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Loren was the air I needed to breathe; her words were the bricks that kept me pieced together. Her body was the temple where I wanted to worship. I didn’t know if I believed in God and eternity but, with her, I felt like I was knocking on heaven’s gates. —Andrew, High School Lover

Love and hate are not opposites; they are siblings birthed by obsession.

Loved with obsessive devotion, hated with barely controlled fury.

Love is not an obsession or a delusion. Love exists in longing and appreciation.

Love? I wanted to go with him, to be on the stronger side, for him to spare me, like one who seeks shelter in the arms of the enemy to stay far from his arrows. It was different than love, I was finding out: I wanted him as a thirsty person desires water, without feelings, without even wanting to be happy.

Mankind's obsession with money and greed has them going down a one way street to their demise.