I knew what it felt like to have no say in who you were as a sexual being. It didn’t just strip away your dignity. It stripped away everything you were: your identity, your self-respect, your pleasure. Because it was all about the pleasure of the other person take, take, taking whatever they wanted from you, even if it was uncomfortable, or caused you pain. Even if you died from it, the other person still wouldn’t care, because it was all about them.
She gave her husband such a night of sexual pleasure that his eyes followed her constantly after that, narrow and hot. He grew molten when she passed near other men, and at night they made their own shaking tent. They got teased too much and moved farther off, into the brush, into the nesting ground of shy and holy loons. There, no one could hear them. In solitude they made love until they became gaunt and hungry, pale windigos with aching eyes, tongues of flame.
He wasn't, I realized when I read those scenes concerning Blair and myself, close to any of us-- except of course to Blair, and really not even to her. He was simply someone who floated through our lives and didn't seem to care how flatly he perceived everyone or that he'd shared our secret failures with the world, showcasing the youthful indifference, the gleaming nihilism, glamorizing the horror of it all. But there was no point in being angry with him.
Rising to her feet, she shot the Bird Man a furious glare, and then stormed off toward Savidlin's house. She was glad to be away from Richard, to be away from watching those girls pawing him.Her fingernails dug into her palms, but she didn't notice as she marched past the happy people. The dancers danced, the drummers drummed, the children laughed. People she passed wished her well. She wanted one of them to say something mean so she would have an excuse to hit someone.
Sungguh ganjil rasa cemburu, sungguh berbeda rasa sakitnya. Di kepala, rasanya seperti disiram seember air es. Di mulut, rasanya seperti digigit semut rambutan. Di dada, rasanya menggeletar.Cemburu adalah perahu Nabi Nuh yang tergenang di dalam hati yang karam. Lalu, naiklah ke geladak perahu itu, binatang yang berpasang-pasangan yakni perasaan tak berdaya-ingin mengalahkan, rencana-rencana jahat-penyesalan, kesedihan-gengsi, kemarahan-keputusasaan, dan ketidakadilah-mengasihani diri.
... Because the writer resented that she had turned to me I became the handsome and dazed narrator, incapable of love or kindness. That's how I became the damaged party boy who wandered through the wreckage, blood streaming from his nose, asking questions that never required answers. That's how I became the boy who never understood how anything worked. That's how I became the boy who wouldn't save a friend. That's how I became the boy who couldn't love the girl.
But it's that fucking dress she's wearing. It's low-cut and tight and just...Jesus. Why would she wear a dress like that? Is she doing it just to torture me? I like the idea that maybe she had me in mind when she picked it out. Of course, she might be wearing it because she wants to get attention from other guys. I look around the wedding suspiciously, trying to see if anyone is looking at her. I don't want to have to punch someone out, but i'll do it if I have to.
For despite his confidence, and his apparent maturity, I suspected that there was in him a deep and childish need to elevate, and idealize, the love object. This is not uncommon in artists. The very nature of their work, the long periods of isolation followed by public self-display, and the associated risk of rejection all conspire to create unnaturally intense relationships with their sexual partners. Then, when disillusion occurs, as of course it must, the sense of betrayal is profound...
Quando Odette deixasse de ser para ele uma criatura sempre ausente, cobiçada, imaginária, quando o sentimento que ele tinha por ela não fosse mais aquela mesma perturbação misteriosa que lhe causava a frase da sonata e sim afeto, reconhecimento, quando se estabelecessem entre ambos relações normais que poriam fim à loucura e à tristeza dele, então sem dúvida os atos da vida de Odette lhe pareceriam si mesmos pouco interessantes.
I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever felt sorry for. There were plenty of kids I was envious of. There were others I achingly admired, but that might simply be another form of jealousy. Then there were those I feared, dreaded. And the worst of them, the man who shamed me. I could see my father’s angry features looming over my mother. I could clearly picture her beside him in his truck, cowering against the door while he belittled and assaulted her.I guess I did know someone I felt sorry for.
Steaming, Sebastian flies up out of his seat and makes a dramatic exit out the front door."Is he always so crazy?" I asked."Yeah. But he's a hot fuck. You'll see.""No thanks... I'll pass. That kid's severely psychotic.""He's just a jealous mess.""Why did you marry him?""We're not married. We're in an open relationship.""Thank God. I was seriously worried.""YEAH. Well I better go find him- before he slits his wrists.""GOOD IDEA. Better take some duct tape-- just in case you're too late.
You say you love your wife. You depend on her; she has given you her body, her emotions, her encouragement, a certain feeling of security and well-being. Then she turns away from you; she gets bored or goes off with someone else, and your whole emotional balance is destroyed, and this disturbance, which you don’t like, is called jealousy. There is pain in it, anxiety, hate and violence. So what you are really saying is, ‘As long as you belong to me I love you but the moment you don’t I begin to hate you.
Unrequited love," I'd say. He'd look at me sideways in that cunning way he did and say, "what about it?" and I'd reply, "it's not your color." Pithy. Just to show him that I'd noticed. Or maybe I'd show myself to her and say, "Guess I'm not the only one who uses humans around here." And then I'd summon some of Owain's hounds to chew off the bottom bits of her legs. Then she wouldn't fit just right into his arms. She'd be too short. It'd be like hugging a midget. Nuala- pg. 75
Whatever worldly thing we may covet - zealously striving to obtain and then retain - never seems to bring an end to our desires. Covetousness, envy, jealousy, and greed always escalate into a vicious spiral, as we seek greater and greater gratification but find less and less contentment. . . . Striving to acquire the things of the world not only does not bring lasting happiness and peace, but it drives us to seek more. When "all we've ever wanted" is grounded in the temporal trappings of this world, it is never enough!
Then must you speakOf one that loved not wisely but too well,Of one not easily jealous but, being wrought,Perplexed in the extreme; of one whose hand,Like the base Indian, threw a pearl awayRicher than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,Albeit unused to the melting mood,Drop tears as fast as the Arabian treesTheir medicinable gum. Set you down this,And say besides that in Aleppo once,Where a malignant and a turbaned TurkBeat a Venetian and traduced the state,I took by th' throat the circumcised dogAnd smote him thus.
