desire

You know you love something if you're willing to die for it, and you know it means nothing if you walk away from that which is dying.

As a general rule, desire is always marketable: we don__ do anything but sell, buy, exchange desires. . . . And I think of Bloy__ words: __here is nothing perfectly beautiful except what is invisible and above all unbuyable.

Every man becomes the image of the God he adores.He whose worship is directed to a dead thing becomes dead.He who loves corruption rots.He who loves a shadow becomes, himself, a shadow. He who loves things that must perish lives in dread of their perishing.

I hate this,_ he muttered, lowering his forehead until it rested on mine. __ hate him. I hate what he does to you. I hate that I can__ stop him._ My heart melted as pain registered on his beautiful face. Without thinking, I lifted my hand and slid it along Ethan__ cheek. He covered my hand with his own and nuzzled it softly. Finally, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. What I saw in them made my breath falter. There was anger and pain, but above all there was_something else. Something that made my heart beat frantically and my whole body vibrate. There was desire.

Psalm 37:44 Delight thyself also in the LORD: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.

I eyed her like a thirsty traveler in the desert looks at a pail of water.

Having begun to feel, people__ desire to feel grew. They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling. They struggled to uncover new emotions.

Their pleasures are fierce and their sleep impenetrable. And they know that the body has a soul in which the soul has no part.

to read is to surrender oneself to an endless displacement of curiosity and desire from one sentence to another, from one action to another, from one level of a text to another. The text unveils itself before us, but never allows itself to be possessed; and instead of trying to possess it we should take pleasure in its teasing

Five seconds, and my body's humming. I go half-man, half-machine, and my thoughts go straight to touching her more, to how far I want to go, how far she might want to go, and damn, I start to hurt. No amount of music or hard work will fix this. My body's a beast. A beast that's been held back too long.

I__ the thing you most desire, you represent the thing I least desire, death. It__ just the opposite of love.

It may seem strange that one with whom I had held so little communion should have so engrossed my thoughts, but benefits conferred awaken love in some minds, as surely as benefits received in others.

Everyone lusts. Everyone Fantasizes. When your lover respects you, you should feel free to explore your desires. No matter how extreme.

I'm sure you've heard people talk about their Heart's Desire__ell that's a load of rot. Hearts are idiots. They're big and squishy and full of daft dreams. They flounce off to write poetry and moon at folk who aren't worth the mooning. Bones are the ones that have to make the journey, fight the monster, kneel before whomever is big on kneeling these days. Bones do the work for the heart's grand plans. Bones know what you need. Hearts only know want.

Do me a favor? Be a gentleman tomorrow?

Patience can be bitter but her fruit is always sweet.

I would be unfair to myself if I said I did not try. I did, even if desultorily. But desire is a curious thing. If it does not exist it does not exist and there is nothing you can do to conjure it up. Worse still, as I discovered, when desire begins to sink, like a capsizing ship it takes down a lot with it._In our case it took down the conversation, the laughter, the sharing, the concern, the dreams and nearly - the most important thing, the most important thing - and nearly the affection too. Soon my sinking desire had taken everything else down with it to the floor of the sea, and only affection remained like the bobbing hand of a_drowning_man, poised_perilously between life and death._More than once she tried to_seize_the moment and open up the issue. She did it with a hard face and a soft face; she did it when I was idling on the terrace and when I was in the thick of my works; first thing in the morning and last thing at night._We need to talk.Yes.Do you want to talk?Sure.What's happening?I don't know.Is there someone else?No.Is it something I did?Oh no.Then what the hell's happening?I don't know.Is there anything you want to talk to me about?I don't know.What do you mean you don't know?I don't know.What do you mean you don't know?I don't know. That's what I mean - I don't know.Toc toc toc._All the while I tried to save that bobbing hand - of affection - from vanishing. I felt somehow that if it drowned there would not be a single pointer on the wide stormy surface to show me where our great love had once stood. That bobbing hand of affection was a marker, a buoy, holding out the hope that one day we could salvage the sunken ship. If it drowned, our coordinates would be completely lost and we would not know where to even begin looking._Even in my weird state, it was an image of such desolation that it made my heart lurch wildly._***_For a long time, with her immense pride in herself - in us - she did not turn to anyone for help. Not friends, not family. For simply too long she imagined this was a passing phase, but then, as the weeks rolled by, through slow accretion the awful truth began to settle on her. By then she had run through all the plays of a relationship: withdrawal, sulking, anger, seduction, inquisition, affection, threat._Logic, love, lust.Now the epitaph was beginning to creep up on her. Acceptance._

To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow.