Best 5910 quotes in «desire quotes» category

There's a difference between sexuality and sex. I used sex to get what I wanted. Sex is just an act. Sexuality is a sincere expression of desire and pleasure.

There's a chasm between envy and desire. Envy is like wanting something that's not yours. But desire is different. Desire comes out of wanting what is yours, and still wanting it even if it's not yet there, but it's not envy.

...There's a difference between desire and desperation. You should never want a guy more than he wants you.

There's a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. What our contempts doth often hurl from us, We wish it ours again. The present pleasure, By revolution lowering, does become The opposite of itself. She's good, being gone. The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on.

There's a story behind every "I don't believe in love" "Period

There should be a word for it. That phantom limb, reaching out from your chest, towards things you’ll never have.

Therese leaned closer toward it, looking down at her glass. She wanted to thrust the table aside and spring into her arms, to bury her nose in the green and gold scarf that was tied close about her neck. Once the backs of their hands brushed on the table, and Therese’s skin there felt separately alive now, and rather burning.

There's mainstream pornography--soft-core airbrushed fluff such as Penthouse and Playboy. The folks makin' this stuff do men and their range of desires a disservice; their implication is that anything outside the "big hair, fake tits, tiny waste, no pores, limited body hair" aesthetic is deviant, weird, not normal--and not something that a red-blooded American man would be interested in. The common boys-will-be-boys explanation for porn--that men get turned on visually (in contrast to "feminine" mode of arousal, which is mental and emotional)--is nothing more than an insult, making men out to be Pavlovian dogs who salivate uncontrollably and strain at their trousers upon contact with nudie pictures. Antiporn arguments, however well-meaning, are no better. Folks like Catherine MacKinnon also believe that men are inherently drawn to porn. And to them, porn is by definition violent, suggesting that it's somehow in men's nature to be aroused by hurting others. Furthermore, antipornography activists think that porn leads men to commit violence--as if men have no self-control or capacity to separate fantasy from reality, as if an erection is a driving force that can't be stopped once it's started... The only difference is one of perspective: Antiporn folk believe that male sexuality is always threatening, while men's-magazine editors think it's always fabulous.

Theres no competition in DESTINY. Run your own RACE and wish others WELL!!!

There's no way that you're real,” she murmured to his crotch.

There's the good girl leading a charmed life who secretly covets to be the rare and elusive femme fatale and the femme fatale who yearns to be good and then there is their nemesis - men who dream and desire both.

...there was no point in sighing after what I could not have. It only distracted me from what I did have.

There was not a scrap of tangible evidence to show that he had spent the most wonderful year of his life with her. Which only increased his desire to remain faithful to her.

There we were, filled with pure animal need, as he pinned me to the wooden table, and cruelly whipped my naked bottom; the two of us sweaty and panting, me screaming, him grunting, our primal sexual natures overprinting the tea room’s pretence at gentility, and refinement.

There were so many other people in my life. I had spent all of my time listening, learning the longings we all have in common. I never took the time to hear them in myself and I heard them speaking to him. The desire for desire, that hope for hope, the possibility of everything truly possible. I had so many friends, so many nods and conversations, so many things I’d always wanted to say to someone.

The richest people in the world build networks and invest in people; everyone else looks for work and invests in survival.

The right reason will reap the desired result,

The room where they were dancing was very dark.... It was queer to be in his arms.... She had known better dancers.... He had looked ill.... Perhaps he was.... Oh, poor Valentine-Elisabeth.... What a funny position!.... The good gramophone played.... Destiny!.... You see, father! ... In his arms! Of course, dancing is not really.... But so near the real thing! So near!... 'Good luck to the special intention!...' She had almost kissed him on the lips ... All but!... Effleurer, the French call it.... But she was not as humble.... He had pressed her tighter.... All these months without.... My lord did me honour.... Good for Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre.... He knew she had almost kissed him on the lips.... And that his lips had almost responded.... The civilian, the novelist, had turned out the last light.... Tietjens said, 'Hadn't we better talk?...' She said: 'In my room, then! I'm dog-tired.... I haven't slept for six nights.... In spite of drugs...' He said: 'Yes. Of course! Where else?....

The Root Cause of Our Problems is The Attachment To Possessions and #Desire for more. #KnowThyself

The root of that craving is our habit energy.When we look deeply at it, we can begin to untie the knot.

The secret tugs at my sleeve. A child looking for attention. It is not a big secret. But it is not the only one either. “Strength in numbers” they say. For they are many. Many little things that – together – weigh tonnes. And take up space. And are quite noisy. The way only a lot of whispers can make noise. And they follow me. Little secrets of omission, desire, and denial. Of indulgence, hedonism, and exploration. Of peeves, passion, and deep-seated fear. Little secrets of despair and disrepair and prohibited thoroughfare.

These eyes has seen diverse misfortunes follow from diverse desires

The sensation that for the world to exist with an object of such beauty in it—and for that object to be unattainable—was the very sweetest kind of pain imaginable.

The sight made her ache. How can I not touch you? she thought hopelessly, and then she was doing it, her fingers on his wrist. He didn't jump or even look at her, just stopped writing. Neither one of them moved, nothing moved, and the whole thing lasted three or four seconds at most, but when Pen took her hand away and started to breathe again, her chest hurt, as though she had been holding her breath for a very long time.

The smile of lovers is gondola of their desire. (Des amoureux le sourire - Est gondole de leur désir.)

The smallest solution to purify the chit is to have a darshan (to see from near) and to become acquainted with a desire-free (nispruha) person. And the final solution is the darshan of a Gnani Purush (the Enlightened One). Besides this, there is no other solution to purify the chit in this world. The speech of desire-free people and the vitarags (the enlightened ones) comes from the heart (hridayadvarak).

The sky is but a looking glass into a pool of airless oceans, cast off into a dance of light and energy, leaving only a facet of guidance to navigate. Such an existence lays but within the mind man.

The Smartphone has become a young divine embodying the ultimate desire and saving us from droopiness or lack of care and concern. It is the epitome of happiness, encompassing pleasure and contentment, but for sure does not allow woe and depression. ("Even if the world goes down, my mobile will save me" )

The source of love, as I learned later, is a curiosity which, combined with the inclination which nature is obliged to give us in order to preserve itself. […] Hence women make no mistake in taking such pains over their person and their clothing, for it is only by these that they can arouse a curiosity to read them in those whom nature at their birth declared worthy of something better than blindness. […] As time goes on a man who has loved many women, all of them beautiful, reaches the point of feeling curious about ugly women if they are new to him. He sees a painted woman. The paint is obvious to him, but it does not put him off. His passion, which has become a vice, is ready with the fraudulent title page. ‘It is quite possible,’ he tells himself, ‘that the book is not as bad as all that; indeed, it may have no need of this absurd artifice.’ He decides to scan it, he tries to turn over the pages—but no! the living book objects; it insists on being read properly, and the ‘egnomaniac’ becomes a victim of coquetry, the monstrous persecutor of all men who ply the trade of love. You, Sir, who are a man of intelligence and have read these least twenty lines, which Apollo drew from my pen, permit me to tell you that if they fail to disillusion you, you are lost—that is, you will be the victim of the fair sex to the last moment of your life. If that prospect pleases you, I congratulate you

The soul is a great magician; transforming thoughts into reality, desires into actions, and life into experiences.

The starting place for your greatness is desire. The desire to succeed, to serve others, to keep on going no matter what; the desire to...

The splendor of that moment, its transcendent glory and aliveness, haunted him. He could thrust it aside by day, but it poisoned his dreams by night, calling to him and pleading with him to unlock the chains he'd bound about it.

The stomach is not the only vital organ that hungers.

The source of evil is desire, greed, and anger.

The story concerns the reason why we love to fall in love. Beauty spins and the mind moves. To catch beauty would be to understand how the impertinent stability in vertigo is possible. But no, delight need not reach so far. To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

The teaching of the sexual tantras all come down to one point. Although desire, of whatever shape or form, seeks completion, there is another kind of union than the one we imagine. In this union, achieved when the egocentric model of dualistic thinking is no longer dominant, we are not united with it, nor am I united with you, but we all just are. The movement from object to subject, as described in both Eastern meditation and modern psychotherapy, is training for this union, but its perception usually comes as a surprise, even when this shift is well under way. It is a kind of grace. The emphasis on sexual relations in the tantric teachings make it clear that the ecstatic surprise of orgasm is the best approximation of this grace.

The supernova sun would be cooler than the fire lighting our desire.

The tension inside the car grew the longer we drove. I wanted him so badly I could barely think or see. For someone who’d gone almost her entire life without sex, the last two weeks shouldn’t have been a problem, but oh, they were. I ached for him. Just holding his hand made my skin tingle with anticipation. When we finally got off the interstate, Romeo turned abruptly onto some empty back road with trees on each side. “Where are you going?” I asked as he pulled over onto the side of the road and let the car idle. “I can’t take it anymore, Rim.” He reached for me, practically lifting me out of the seat and pulling me across the center toward him. I was all too willing as I climbed into his lap to straddle him. He reached up into the messy bun on my head and pulled out the hair tie. The heavy mess that was my hair tumbled down over my shoulders and back as he carefully removed my glasses before burying his hands in and pulling me close. The kiss was all-consuming. It wasn’t like at the airport where he kept his desire in check. Instead, it surged out around me, and I rocked into his already rigid length and moaned low in my throat.

The thing about our choices is that after we have made them, they turn around and make us.

The thing about the Lexington International Bank ladder was that it was very long, and climbing it was very exhausting, and so Andrew Brown didn't have a lot of time to think about whether he really wanted to get to the top of it—and besides, since so many other people were climbing too, the view from the top must be worth it. So he kept going. He worked hard. He put his heart and mind and soul into it. There was an opening for a position half a rung higher than he already was. With a promotion, he might get two hours a week of a secretary's time. He'd go to more important meetings, with more senior people, and have the opportunity to impress them, and if he did he might be promoted again and then... well, of course eventually he'd be running the whole office. It's important to have a dream: otherwise you might notice where you really are.

The timbre of his voice went into that low register that made my insides curl in on themselves--it was like my uterus was tapping out a happy dance on the rest of my organs.

The thing about music was that you never knew the shape of anyone’s desire.

The things you don't know or understand are as important as your desire to know them. This is the relationship of man to mystery.

...the things we don't have are sadder than the things we have. Because the things we don't have exist in our imaginations, where they are perfect.

The thought went through my mind that we should film ourselves in our sexual act, and project our frenzied copulation permanently onto the walls of the tea-room, as a lesson to wake up the boring people who drank tea here, and to show them what life was really all about.

The truly terrible thing about this life, was not knowing what you want, but only able to recognize what you do not want. You have to spend so much time and energy trying to find it out, time that other people spent in pursuing of their desires.

The truth is that this is the only way I can live: in two directions. I need two lives. I am two beings. When I return to Hugo in the evening, to the peace and warmth of the house, I return with deep contentment, as if this was the only condition for me. I bring home to Hugo a whole woman, freed of all 'possessed' fevers, cured of the poison of restlessness and curiosity which used to threaten our marriage, cured through action. Our love lives, because I live. I sustain and feed it. I am loyal to it, in my own way, which cannot be his way. If he ever reads these lines, he must believe me. I am writing calmly, lucidly while waiting for him to come home, as one waits for the chosen lover, the eternal one.

The Tuesday Seamstress said our souls were sewn apart. Delicate embroidered tomorrows travelled without a start.

The trouble with being an angel on Earth was that he was still a man. He got hungry. He thirsted. His lungs clamored without the draw of air. And for this woman, the only one in a thousand years, his body and soul ached. The trick was to will his mind, and ignore the Earthly sensations, as he'd done so many times with pain and trouble. Desire was no different, a call of the flesh. He could divide himself-acknowledge the lust and act on intellect. But see, the trouble with being an angel was that he was still a man.

The truth is that the fever of desire in youth is fleeting disease that intimacy promptly cure.