Had doting Priam checked his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.

Had doting Priam checked his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.

The first principle of success is desire -- knowing what you want. Desire is the planting of your seed.

The first principle of success is desire -- knowing what you want. Desire is the planting of your seed.

Love is the rose. Lust is the thorn.
http://www.sathyasai.org.

Love is the rose. Lust is the thorn.
http://www.sathyasai.org.

The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of read more

The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.

A woman's appetite is twice that of a man's; her sexual desire, four times; her intelligence, eight times

A woman's appetite is twice that of a man's; her sexual desire, four times; her intelligence, eight times

Each man has his own desires; all do not possess the same
inclinations.
[Lat., Velle suuum cuique est, read more

Each man has his own desires; all do not possess the same
inclinations.
[Lat., Velle suuum cuique est, nec voto vivitur uno.]

Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?

Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?

You can have anything you want if you want it desperately enough. You must want it with an inner exuberance read more

You can have anything you want if you want it desperately enough. You must want it with an inner exuberance that erupts through the skin and joins the energy that created the world.

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.