Best 632 quotes in «jealousy quotes» category

There's a thin line between ambition and jealousy: ambition is outdoing yourself; jealousy is outdoing others.

...there was a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill.

There they were, the movers and shakers of Benjamin Franklin Hight - the sports stars, the cheerleaders, the good, the great, the gorgeous - bent over their pizzas. Trish sensed my angst and said, "My mother says girls like Lisa Shooty get the ultimate curse known to man." "What's that?" "Too much too soon." I looked at poor, cursed Lisa who had been sprayed with sex appeal at birth. She had gleaming teeth and long, raven-black curls. She threw back her head and laughed with diamond-studded joy. "When do you think the curse takes effect?" I asked. "Not in our lifetime," Trish answered.

There was no jealousy on the part of a new spouse over the love or affection a man or woman shared with a former spouse. It was considered a blessing to have had such loves in one's life.

The same beautiful receptionist greeted Christian who had met him before and she extended the same lush invitation as she had the last time. Victoria's eyes narrowed and Christian chuckled under his breath at her jealousy."Relax chérie, she's paid to do that." "Well, she didn't come on to me, so obviously she's not doing her job properly," Victoria said. Christian laughed.

[T]hese friends were of the female persuasion, and while by and large they were bi and large, they still represented potential threats on [her] feminine radar.

The self-centered man will always expect nothing but praise. He will hope and expect all incoming criticism to be mere self-projection from the critic because when you're self-centered, self-projection is all you can imagine one can do.

The source and content of information remain the same...the response creates divergent emotions,while negative response creates jealousy positive creates motivation.

The steel suddenly touched her heart. Ah, jealousy, it was jealousy, the cold hand mashing her slowly, squeezing her, diminishing her soul.

The theatre is a tragic place, full of endings and partings and heartbreak. You dedicate yourself passionately to something, to a project, to people, to a family, you think of nothing else for weeks and months, then suddenly it's over, it's perpetual destruction, perpetual divorce, perpetual adieu. It's like éternel retour, it's a koan. It's like falling in love and being smashed over and over again.’ 'You do, then, fall in love.’ 'Only with fictions, I love players, but actors are so ephemeral. And then there’s waiting for the perfect part, and being offered it the day after you've committed yourself to something utterly rotten. The remorse, and the envy and the jealousy. An old actor told me if I wanted to stay in the trade I had better kill off envy and jealousy at the start.

The touched heart madly stirs, your laughter is water hurrying over pebbles - every gesture is a proclamation, every sound is speech...

The two women were locked in a stare down. Angus was mesmerized by the cleavage that had passed by his face when the waitress had stood up. I was intently tracking Karen’s hand as it slipped down Angus’ thigh. Oh no… do not touch his thigh… I glared at Karen’s hand, focusing until each follicle on the back of her knuckles became distinct. I could burn that skin with the candle flame. I imagined the holes in her skin releasing each fine strand of hair with no more sound than an underwater coral worm spitting out filtered ocean dust. My arm twitched, yearning to act, but was stayed by the waitress’ next comment. “I get off at three.

The woman at the next table is making eyes at you,” Lanie said, whispering conspiratorially. “Really? What does she make them out of? Cloth?

The two ugly sisters jealousy and evil walk hand in hand closely followed by their brother greed

The voice that says, “That’s the way I am,” is the voice of knowledge. It’s the voice of the liar living in the Tree of Knowledge in your head. The Toltec consider it a mental disease that is highly contagious because it’s transmitted from human to human through knowledge. The symptoms of the disease are fear, anger, hatred, sadness, jealousy, conflict, and separation between humans. Again, these lies are controlling the dream of our life. I think this is obvious.

The wish to gain complete possession of somebody is expressed most plainly by jealousy. Jealousy is never a sign of love. It only indicates fear of not being able to hold another person.

They were the kind of couple you rolled your eyes at. The couple you wanted to punch square in their perfect noses, but secretly hoped would become your new best friends and invite you to a private dinner party where you’d eat something made with truffle oil and share a rueful laugh about the party scene in Ibiza.

They'll say you are bad or perhaps you are mad or at least you should stay undercover. Your mind must be bare if you would dare to think you can love more than one lover.

Those who envy the success of others are normally ignorant to the sacrifices, failures, and dedication that it took for them to get there.

This was one of those mid-thirties moments when you take a look at the stale, half-chewed bagel your life has become and kiss jealousy on its smokey mouth.

Those.. we use to abuse in front of others.. somewhere deep inside.. we wish to be like them..

Those who envy the success of others are normally ignorant to the sacrafices, failures, and dedication that it took for them to get there

Those who truly want greatness must surround themselves with people even greater than they are.

Those who pretend as if they don't love you, are the ones who would hate to see you love another person.

Think about the suffering we cause ourselves internally through getting angry or jealous.

[T]his jealousy gave him, if anything, an agreeable chill, as, to the sad Parisian who is leaving Venice behind him to return to France, a last mosquito proves that Italy and summer are still not too remote. But, as a rule, with this particular period of his life from which he was emerging, when he made an effort, if not to remain in it, at least to obtain a clear view of it while he still could, he discovered that already it was too late; he would have liked to glimpse, as though it were a landscape that was about to disappear, that love from which he had departed; but it was so difficult to enter into a state of duality and to present to oneself the lifelike spectacle of a feeling one has ceased to possess, that very soon, the clouds gathering in his brain, he could see nothing at all, abandoned the attempt, took the glasses from his nose and wiped them; and he told himself that he would do better to rest for a little, that there would be time enough later on, and settled back into his corner with the incuriosity, the torpor of the drowsy sleeper in the railway-carriage that is drawing him, he feels, faster and faster out of the country in which he has lived for so long and which he had vowed not to allow to slip away from him without looking out to bid it a last farewell.

Those who had listened to Grisóstomo’s song thought it was very good, though the one who read it said he did not think it conformed to the accounts he had heard of Marcela’s virtue and modesty, because in it Grisóstomo complained of jealousy, suspicions, and absence, all to the detriment of Marcela’s good name and reputation. To which Ambrosio, as the one who knew best the most hidden thoughts of his friend, replied: 'Señor, so that you may free yourself of this doubt, you ought to know that when the unfortunate man wrote this song he was absent from Marcela; he had absented himself from her voluntarily, to see if absence would have its customary effects on him, and since there is nothing that does not vex the absent lover, and no fear that does not overwhelm him, Grisóstomo was as vexed by the jealousy he imagined and the suspicions he feared as if they had been real. And with this the truth of Marcela’s reputation for virtue remains unshaken; for aside from her being cruel, and somewhat arrogant, and very disdainful, envy itself cannot or should not find any fault in her.

To be mature is, we're told, to move beyond possessiveness. Jealousy is for babies. The mature person knows that no one owns anyone.

To love thyself is the only option, I catch my reflection in the mirror; I caution myself But seeing your picture-perfect lives is a pollution - - your bliss disrupts my peace, bugging me to consider that my own existence isn’t burdened with glee. Just like a movie, I crave my life to be … … but only because I flick the screens and yours seems to be.

To Her Steady Lover - Poem by Jibanananda Das There is no meaning in living—I don't say this. There is meaning for some, may be for all—may be a perfect meaning. Yet I hear the white sound of wind-driven birds In the water of the distant seas beneath the burning summer sun. The candle burns slowly, very slowly, on my table; The books of intellect are more still—unwavering— lost in meditation; Yet when you go out on to the streets or even while sitting by the window side Will you sense the frenzied dance of violent waters; Right beside that a book of your cheeks; no more like a lantern, Perhaps like a conch-shell lying on the beach as if ocean's father It is also a music by his own merit—like Nature: caustic—lovable—finally like the most favourite entity. So I get the taste of expansive wind in the airing of maddening grievances; Otherwise in the mind's forest the python coils up around the doe: I feel the pitiable hint of a life like that in the Sceptre of protest. Some glacier-cold still flock of Cormorants will realize my words; When the electric-compass of life will cease They will eat up snow-grey sleep like polar seas in endless grasp.

To live with a mind full of grudges and jealousy, is to bargain to be constantly punished by negative feelings and emotions.

Too bad,Elizabeth. You're Stuck with me.Not for a few decades,not for centuries. You're tied to me forever. That boy and girl offspring you talked off? They'll come from me--or no one.

True friendship doesn't include jealousy.

Truly competent Literary Detectives are as rare as truthful men, Mr. Tweed -- you can see her potential as clearly as I can. Frightened of someone stealing your thunder, perhaps?

True love is jealousy in disguise: A man cannot restrict his lover from going to the club because he hates her, he actually hates the men who would come around and touch her.

Try to resist copying a blueprint from another person's ministry.

Truthfully, there're only a handful of people in this world who really get joy from seeing you happy. Most won't care if you’re happy, only if you're miserable like they are. They eat that shit up.

Use your hater to make you greater!

Walter Scott has no business to write novels, especially good ones. — It is not fair. — He has fame and profit enough as a poet, and should not be taking the bread out of other people’s mouths. — I do not like him, and do not mean to like Waverley if I can help it — but fear I must.

We envy people who are extremely old because we wish to live that long, not because we want to be that old.

We always learn more from those whom we hate than those whom we love.

We grew up on the same street, You and me. We went to the same schools, Rode the same bus, Had the same friends, And even shared spaghetti With each other's families. And though our roots belong to The same tree, Our branches have grown In different directions. Our tree, Now resembles a thousand Other trees In a sea of a trillion Other trees With parallel destinies And similar dreams. You cannot envy the branch That grows bigger From the same seed, And you cannot Blame it on the sun's direction. But you still compare us, As if we're still those two Kids at the park Slurping down slushies and Eating ice cream. Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun (2010)

What is inspiration in strangers is jealousy in kinsmen.

Well, be careful,” she said, her words deliberate. She quickly twisted her head, as if making certain no one was behind her. When she turned back around, her green eyes were hard and filled with hate. “Because wouldn’t it be terrible if you slipped and hurt yourself?

We sometimes congratulate someone, not because we value or find worthy what they have just achieved, but only because we fear coming across as jealous.

What is jealousy but a reflection of your own failures?

What? Just because I can't have you right now, doesn't mean I'm okay with him having you.

We like to stress the commonness of heroes. Essences seem undemocratic. We feel oppressed by the call to greatness. We regard an interest in glory or perfection as a sign of mental unhealthiness, and have decided that high achievers, who are called overachievers, owe their surplus ambition to a defect in mothering (either too little or too much). We want to admire but think we have a right not to be intimidated. We dislike feeling inferior to an ideal. So away with ideals, with essences. The only ideals allowed are healthy ones -- those everyone may aspire to, or comfortably imagine oneself possessing.

We want to develop the nation We want to develop the state We want to develop the society, But very few of us wants let the neighbor grow. Then how could the world will grow.

What can you do if they don’t take it? You can’t go ask: “Why didn’t you take my writing?” They didn’t take it; that’s it. More importantly, I never sent my stuff to them. I knew they wouldn’t publish. But the first non-Hungry writing I had perhaps given to Golpo-Kobita. Subhash and Basudev also wrote in that magazine later. Then, I was also enmeshed in a lot of things…marriage, home, office.