You May Also Like / View all maxioms
Love is the rose. Lust is the thorn.
http://www.sathyasai.org.
Love is the rose. Lust is the thorn.
http://www.sathyasai.org.
There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's
desire. The other is to get read more
There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's
desire. The other is to get it.
If thou wilt make a man happy, add not unto his riches but take away from his desires.
If thou wilt make a man happy, add not unto his riches but take away from his desires.
Forbidden pleasures alone are loved immoderately; when lawful, they do not excite desire.rn
Forbidden pleasures alone are loved immoderately; when lawful, they do not excite desire.rn
As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul
after thee, O God.
As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul
after thee, O God.
Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and read more
Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
It's so much better to desire than to have. . . . The moment of desire, when you know something read more
It's so much better to desire than to have. . . . The moment of desire, when you know something is going to happen -- that's the most exalting.
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to read more
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.