Be like the flower, content with its nature.
Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystalsurrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,or cherries, the rich spurt in the backof the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.Give me the lover who yanks open the doorof his house and presses me to the wallin the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I__ drenchedand shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatloadand begin their delicious diasporathrough the cities and small towns of my body.To hell with the saints, with martyrsof my childhood meant to instruct mein the power of endurance and faith,to hell with the next world and its pallid angelsswooning and sighing like Victorian girls.I want this world. I want to walk intothe ocean and feel it trying to drag me alonglike I__ nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,and I want to resist it. I want to gostaggering and flailing my waythrough the bars and back rooms,through the gleaming hotels and weedylots of abandoned sunflowers and the parkswhere dogs are let off their leashesin spite of the signs, where they sniff eachother and roll together in the grass, I want tolie down somewhere and suffer for love untilit nearly kills me, and then I want to get up againand put on that little black dress and waitfor you, yes you, to come over hereand get down on your knees and tell mejust how fucking good I look.- __or Desire
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Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystalsurrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,or cherries, the rich spurt in the backof the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.Give me the lover who yanks open the doorof his house and presses me to the wallin the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I__ drenchedand shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatloadand begin their delicious diasporathrough the cities and small towns of my body.To hell with the saints, with martyrsof my childhood meant to instruct mein the power of endurance and faith,to hell with the next world and its pallid angelsswooning and sighing like Victorian girls.I want this world. I want to walk intothe ocean and feel it trying to drag me alonglike I__ nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,and I want to resist it. I want to gostaggering and flailing my waythrough the bars and back rooms,through the gleaming hotels and weedylots of abandoned sunflowers and the parkswhere dogs are let off their leashesin spite of the signs, where they sniff eachother and roll together in the grass, I want tolie down somewhere and suffer for love untilit nearly kills me, and then I want to get up againand put on that little black dress and waitfor you, yes you, to come over hereand get down on your knees and tell mejust how fucking good I look.- __or Desire
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The golden rule of business is supply and demand. I venture to say that this is also the rule of happiness. When a balance is achieved between our desires and another's willingness to satisfy them, the result is a sympathetic, mutually rewarding relationship. (...) a thriving economy of love.' - character Mike Lambeth
Being wealthy isn't just a question of having lots of money. It's a question of what we want. Wealth isn't an absolute, it's relative to desire. Every time we seek something that we can't afford, we can be counted as poor, how much money we may actually have.
Why me?" she asked, holding on to him."Because you cared," he whispered. "You cared so much for your people, it broke your heart to see the pack in ruins. You cared so much for your mother, you risked your life for hers. You cared enough to save someone who wanted you dead. And because you walk like a queen.
I want your most vital organ. I want it to be mine.
It was that impossible thing: happiness that does not wilt to reveal the thin shoots of some new desire rising from within it.