Obsession Quotes - Page 5

All scholars are a bit mad. All obsessions are dangerous.

You've invaded my mind and I can't get you out of it," he accused with discernible disdain. She avoided looking at him and said, "Then you should forget." "Forget?" he thundered,"EVERYTHING reminds me of you!" She turned to confront him, slowing lifting her eyes to meet the disgust in his. "That's not my doing," she countered, "That's your doing and you are the only one who can control it.

Anything that inspires addiction or obsession - substances, entertainment, beauty, secrecy - is dangerous in that it can lead to isolation, self-absorption, and disconnection, to paralyzed stasis: an immobility that gathers like a force.

Nothing and no one had ever belonged to him and only him—except Legion. Not that she would do anything necessary to save him, nor would he do anything necessary to save her. But. Yeah, there was always a but with him. He had been her first lover—and he wanted to be her last.

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.

The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.

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.

Clearly prize money received more serious attention than scurvy or signals.

This was worse than a coke binge. Worse than black tar or the thrill of E. This was the devil himself snaking his way inside of my heart and bending me to his will. This was addiction, quickly morphing into obsession. And somewhere in the clouded fog that was my brain, I knew this was a game I was going to lose.

...the true test of the perversity of a pleasure is that it occupies a disproportionate amount of the attention.

My inner goddess confirms that staring at a beautiful/rich/powerful face is the basis of True Love.

With the help of fanzines and close attention to the text of the game you can actually learn to speak Tsolyanu while wondering why the school still makes you learn French–it's not like you're going to use it.

I long for the day I no longer long for him.

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

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.

..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?

Luc blinked innocently. That little fuck. "I gave you a piece of opal and a Luxen to nom-nom on.

The exhausted mind is obsession's easiest prey.

I would fight of course. Oh, I would fight. Better destroy everything than surrender her.

A bird cannot love freely when caged.

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

We should bear in mind the supercrip stereotype as a figure obsessively, indeed maniacally, over-compensating for a perceived physical difference or lack, since, as we shall see, this aspect ties in quite neatly with the genre specificities and narratival concerns of so much Silver Age superhero literature.

Most ardent reformers are accompanied by but equal portion of dullness . John Quincy Adams

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

Winter, spring, and summer, passed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossoms or the expanding leaves — sights which before always yielded me supreme delight, so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation.

If you're that obsessed with someone, why would you kill her?Humans are full of contradictions.

I wanted to see you again, touch you, know who you were, see if I would find you identical with the ideal image of you which had remained with me and perhaps shatter my dream with the aid of reality.-Claude Frollo

Power is never measured by what you can give but by what you can actually take!

All that existed was Jace; all she felt, hoped, breathed, wanted, and saw was Jace. Nothing else mattered.

Man's greatest wisdom is to choose his obsession well.

The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.

The outside world holds no interest for me without you." -Edward

When others' obsessions are not ours, we are sad for them, and we talk of how empty their lives will be if they don't achieve their empty goal: the gymnastics prize, the firm partnership. But there is a monomania in which it is the focus, the sense of transport, that is the real pleasure.

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

The rest of the short walk was silent. It was that loud sortof silence where the absence is painful, when there’s so much tosay, but nothing is said.

Pretty, was she?""Pretty?" he echoed. "Mister, when I see my first lady angel, if God ever sees fit to show me one, it'll be her wings and not her face that'll make my mouth fall open. I've already seen the prettiest face that ever could be.

Sanity is to the mind, insanity is for the heart,Docility is to the mind, wildness is to the heart,Tamable is the mind, Untamable is the heart,Freedom is to the mind, cages are for the heart.

As long as she is near or within his power to reach, he will be drawn to her, leaving less of him for others and that's why she had to leave. She knew, despite her own great desire, that there are consequences and responsibilities that are more important and life-altering than personal feelings.

We all were silent for a reason, maybe our hearts were talking to us, and it is a human behavior whenever someone is in a crisis or something great is happening, our hearts speaks to us. More and more, only that time because we are too obsessed to use our brains after every work every day that listening to heart becomes secondary

Some thoughts are too angry to sleep. They lie awake all night and become obsessions.

From the first time I saw you, I've belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me. -Jace

Sylvia Plath is there for me when actual living people upon who I have depended upon my whole life, are not. What I mean to say is, without her words, I'd be exponentially more messed up than I am already.

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.

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

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.

Create a character with an obsession, then follow.

Mine first --mine last-- mine even in the grave!

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.

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,tbrown sugar thick.” (Poem: An apology of a coffee lunatic, Book: Ginger and Honey)

By trying to export myself into a place that didn't fully exist I asked works of art to bear my expectation that they could be better than life, that they could redeem life. In fact, I believe they are, and do. My life is dedicated to that belief. But still, I asked too much of them: I asked them also to be both safer than life and fuller, a better family. That they couldn't give. At the depths I'd plumb them, so many perfectly sufficient works of art would become thin, anemic. I sucked the juice out of what I loved until I found myself in a desert, sucking rocks for water.

She looked at me again, and the sweet and shy Nicole disappeared. Her eyes b

All these men who loved Emma, I think. For all her problems, men were fixated on her. Will anyone ever feel like that about me?

But does it make any sense at all to know that it ends badly for all of us, even the happiest of us, and that we all lose everything that matters in the end-and yet to know as well, despite all this, as cruelly as the game is stacked, that it's possible to play it with a kind of joy?To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I've been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it's there.

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.

Why should I blame her that she filled my daysWith misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,Or hurled the little streets upon the great, Had they but courage equal to desire?What could have made her peaceful with a mindThat nobleness made simple as a fire,With beauty like a tightened bow, a kindThat is not natural in an age like thisBeing high and solitary and most stern?Why, what could she have done, being what she is?Was there another Troy for her to burn?

I love you so much that nothing can matter to me - not even you...Only my love- not your answer. Not even your indifference

As he fills me, I wonder if—in the same way that sex makes its own unique perfume—we don’t really “make” love. As in create, manufacture, evoke an independent element in the air around us, and if enough of us did it really well, for real, not just for the hell of it, we could change the world. Because when he’s in me, I feel the space around us changing, charging, and it seems to set off some kind of feedback loop, where the more he touches me, the more I need him to. Having sex with Barrons sates my need. Then feeds it. Sates, then feeds. It’s a never-ending cycle. I get out of bed with him, frantic to be back in it again. And I—“—hated you for it,” he says gently.That was my line.“I never get enough, Mac. Drives me bug-fuck. I should kill you for what you make me feel.”I understand perfectly. He is my vulnerability. I would become Shiva, the world-eater, for him.

They know too well the violent hypnosis of those who hope to possess them-- men who can smell the blood on the places where a woman is breaking.

She was here and the world, for so long ugly and deformed, was all at once itself again. She was taking a glass of sweet wine from one of the waiters. She was smiling. She was breathing. She was here. She was an island of such colossal importance within a sea of inconsequence that it seemed impossible the Ball was able to continue its empty existence.

Over and over I played her favorite Arvo Pärt, as a way of being with her; and she had only to mention recently read novel for me to grab it up hungrily, to be inside her thoughts, a sort of telepathy