Best 453 quotes in «obsession quotes» category

Create a character with an obsession, then follow.

Dès ce moment, le doux espoir a remplacé la cruelle inquiétude. J'aurai cette femme, je l'enlèverai au mari qui la profane, j'oserai la ravir au Dieu même qu'elle adore.

Did I love her? No. I obsessed over her completely. And thank heavens I was obsessed. Obsession, infatuation, is something short-lived. A sweet fever dream that leaves you exhausted from the high. Love is perpetual. Love is an entire world compared to that other form of mania people mistake love for. If love is loving the reality of a person, obsession is idealising the fantasy of another. Did I love her? No. Never. But I was utterly obsessed.

«Dimmi che sarà sufficiente» mormorò contro le sue labbra. Dimmi che basterà per cancellarti dalla mia mente. Dimmi che potrò essere libero da te.

Doing something once can be addicting. Doing it twice is admitting it.

Do not allow yourself to be obsessed on failures

Don't come, I was thinking now. Wherever you are, stay there. Because with her reduced to a fantasy, I could imagine a wonderful meeting. I could see her smiling, tossing her red-haired head, staring at me with inquisitive eyes. I'd say something meaningful to her, and she'd melt for me. Reality could not live up to that.

Empathy is a quality today that we need more than ever. Throughout his life Jesus showed empathy and care for others on a level never seen before. From him we learn that Gods ways of service to others before obsession with self is the path he wants us to walk on and deep down we know it.

El cuento requiere una reducción del campo narrativo análoga al estrechamiento de conciencia que acompaña a las ideas fijas. En cierto modo, el cuentista procede como un obseso.

Emotions don’t interfere in my acting, nor in my life.

Enemies are the people who think about you more than your friends do.

Don’t let your problems become your obsession.

Emily is grateful to this man and gradually she begins to immerse herself into the world of Tiger's obsession.

Erik rose, as I entered, but dared not turn in my direction. 'Erik!' I cried, 'show me your face without fear! I swear you are the most unhappy and sublime of men; and, if ever again I shiver when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor of your genius!' Then Erik turned round, for he believed me, and I also had faith in myself. He fell at my feet with words of love... with words of love in his dead mouth... and the music had ceased... He kissed the hem of my dress and did not see that I closed my eyes. "What more can I tell you, dear? You now know the tragedy. It went on for a fortnight- a fortnight during which I lied to him. My lies were as hideous as the monster who inspired them; but they were the price of my liberty. I burned his mask; and I managed so well that, even when he was not singing, he tried to catch my eye, like a dog sitting by its master. He was my faithful slave and paid me endless little attentions.

Ever since her obsession with Jonathan Cain, a deranged transfer student who had been at Sweet Valley for a month, Enid’s life had been entirely guyless.

Eventually, her designed genetic material will be implanted into my egg, which first would have had my genetic material removed. Then my mother could become my baby. And someday, when I get old, I can become her baby. Then she will be mine, and I will be hers.

Even though it inspires some of the world's greatest literature, music, and art, obsessive love is one of the most potent and compelling of tortures and one of the most difficult to overcome -- especially because it feels beyond conscious control. Tormented lovers try the patience even of those who truly love them, because they sufferers do not desire help extricating themselves though they claim to be seeking it; this is an illness from which no one wants to be cured.

Everybody has a second personality, it may possess and make you do whatever it likes.

Even when not in the act of writing Muscatine a letter, I was often composing one in my mind, situating the words just so, plunking one here, then one there, gauging how to sound worthy of his regard.

Everyday, in the afternoon, When the sun and the clouds are in equipoise, I look up, with shrunken eyes and shadowed forehead, To see whether you hide in them, If those shapes could make some sense, And I find you walking your dog, laughing aloud, Driving your car and Dancing in the bar, Working very hard and playing retard, Hurting my eyes, head and heart; I look upon the ground, Tossing a stone as cold as your soul, Realisation is a fantasy, Omnipresence is not your genre, but Obsession is mine.

Freedom begins on the other side of obsession.

Faceva male. Qualunque sentimento risultava doloroso accanto a quella donna, ogni cosa che nasceva e moriva attorno a Eleanor possedeva spine taglienti che si conficcavano ovunque dentro di lui. Un dolore al quale, nonostante tutto, il suo corpo non riusciva a rinunciare. Graffiami. Incidi tutta te stessa dentro di me, così che possa avere l’illusione di averti per sempre.

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)

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.

Everything his parents repressed, Severin contracted and kept, collected almost, with the ambition to revive it when needed.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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 quest was a wolf, and it starved. - Gansey

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.

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

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.

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

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

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 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 !