Fantasy mirrors desire. Imagination reshapes it.
My thought has been shaped by books; my desires by pictures.
Dreams surround our desires with ugliness and dread.
When I try to portray to myself my heart's desire, nothing happens.
The desire to perform impedes conversation.
Dreams are distorted representations of desire. So are dream- analyses.
I am kept in bondage by the moles of my beloved.
The extravagance of intellect outstrips the extravagance of desire.
I dream of vague shapes that hint of my heart's desire.
Desire is wakeful; satisfaction dozes.
Altruism is for those who cannot endure their desires.
As desire recedes, the world becomes clear, pale, and empty.
My intentions go one way, my desires another. Thus I feel both self-indulgent and deprived.
The desire to be significant casts a pall.
In the street, the gaze of desire is furtive or menacing.
Yearning wants mostly to perpetuate itself.
Sexual attraction keeps throwing self-interest off course.
Smiling half-reluctance seems to promise more than the frankest gesture of desire.
When sages commend excess, Desire is sick.
Rebuttals never alter desire.
Seek and Hide: the Lover gazes at the Beloved. The Beloved looks away. The Beloved turns and looks at the Lover. The Lover runs away.
The desire to create literature leads to frights, grunts, and coy looks.
Shameless: Punish me for my desire if you will. It burns still.
Habit keeps my life going, with occasional pushes from desire.
Make the expectations lively enough, and action will follow.
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