I think that sometimes love gets in the way of itself - you know, love interrupts itself. We want things so much that we sabotage them.
I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.
We want to be the band to dance to when the bomb drops.
Capricious, wanton, bold, and brutal Lust Is meanly selfish; when resisted, cruel; And, like the blast of Pestilential Winds, Taints the sweet bloom of Nature's fairest forms.
O accursed hunger of gold, to what dost thou not compel human hearts!
Besides all those whaling details, Moby Dick is about someone who's looking for something so huge, something they've wanted all their life, yet they know when they find it, it will kill them.
I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts.
Neither the wrath of Heaven nor the attacks of enemies are as fatal as Pleasure alone when she infects the mind.
There's a difference between lust and passionate love. Lust can't just creep in. You'll not find it where true love exists, but it has power enough to shatter the world you've worked so hard to create with love, and sometimes, it suddenly changes how you perceived love to begin with. Love then doesn't live there anymore.
You are my sweetest downfall.
He looked at her as a man might look at a faded flower he had plucked, in which it was difficult for him to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it
How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.
I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.
What feeds me destroys me.
The desire to kill is like the desire to attack another with an ingot of red -hot iron: I have to pick up the incandescent metal and burn my own hand while burning the other. Hate itself is the seed of death in my own heart, while it seeks the death of the other.
Revenge, that thirsty dropsy of our souls, makes us covet that which hurts us most.
Lust is a mysterious wound in the side of humanity; or rather, at the very source of its life! To confound this lust in man with that desire which unites the sexes is like confusing a tumor with the very organ which it devours, a tumor whose very deformity horribly reproduces the shape.
It is regarded as normal to consecrate virginity in general and to lust for its destruction in particular.
Beauty is desired in order that it may be befouled; not for its own sake, but for the joy brought by the certainty of profaning it.
We cannot burn Mick Jagger. We want the effect, but we can't burn him.
Your intelligence doesn't override your desire to destroy yourself.
She remembered me.' This was his worst weakness, his most toxic drug.
Done so many evil things in the name of love, it's a crying shame. I never did see no fire that could put out a flame.
The root of humanly caused evil is not man's animal nature, not territorial aggression, or innate selfishness, but our need to gain self-esteem, deny our mortality, and achieve a heroic self-image. Our desire for the best is the cause of the worst.
