I read in order to write. I read out of obsession with writing.
I have, at times, been absorbed in my work to the point of complete self-oblivion. Once I worked for thirty-six hours without a break - to complete exhaustion; and while I was in the middle of it I didn't even notice.
But what if your obsession has nothing to do with drugs or thrills or money? What if what you want most in the world is to recapture the way life was a week, a month, a year ago-and you are willing to do whatever it takes?
I'm really obsessed with the past.
In its haste to bolster nationalism, in its obsession with security, Europe is losing its soul.
I have an obsession with Milk Duds. Eating them tastes like heaven.
Under popular culture's obsession with a naive inclusion, everything is O. K.
I wanted to make a comment on the obsession with success and failure that we see a lot in America.
There is a point at which curiosity becomes unbearable, when it becomes an obsession, like hunger.
I once tried to make lace - which has been a great obsession of women - unsexy. And I achieved it.
Is it love, obsession, infatuation? You don't know. You think of a strange and beautiful word you read about once, Limerance, a psychological term, meaning an obsessive love, a state that's almost like a drug. Need like a wolf paces the perimeter of your world, back and forth, back and forth, never letting up. . . . You're appalled by the new appetites within you, kicking their feet and clawing to get out.
One tiny Hobbit against all the evil the world could muster. A sane being would have given up, but Samwise burned with a magnificent madness, a glowing obsession to surmount every obstacle, to find Frodo, destroy the Ring, and cleanse Middle Earth of its festering malignancy. He knew he would try again. Fail, perhaps. And try once more. A thousand, thousand times if need be, but he would not give up the quest.
I have spent the last five months obsessively working on Outlaw.
Every good writer or filmmaker has something eating at them, right? That they can't quite get off their back. And so your job is to make your audience care about your obsessions.
Rather than a profession, photography has always been a passion for me, a passion closer to an obsession.
You can't stand clutter, and you have an obsession with orderliness. The furniture in here is centered exactly on the walls; the files on your desk are arranged in precise corners. If I had to guess, I would say you are probably a control freak, and that is usually symptomatic of a man who feels powerless to control his own life, so he tries to control every facet of his surroundings.
Let the people decide through the marketplace mechanism what they wish to see and hear. Why is there this national obsession to tamper with this box of transistors and tubes when we don't do the same for Time magazine?
I became, in other words, more like Holmes than the man himself: brilliant, driven to a point of obsession, careless of myself, mindless of others, but without the passion and the deep-down, inbred love for the good in humanity that was the basis of his entire career. He loved the humanity that could not understand or fully accept him; I, in the midst of the same human race, became a thinking machine.
How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.
. . . obsessions are always dangerous.
