Flattery and insults raise the same question: What do you want?
The novelty we want is always close to the familiar.
I want to appear ordinary, but I have it understood that I am not.
Often, when I want to consult my impulses, I cannot find them.
It's no good being exclusive if nobody wants in.
You are so tactful that I have no idea what you want.
As soon as I hear of a right, I want it.
Of course I want to be good, but that may not be to your advantage.
Victimization has its privileges, and I want some.
General statements omit what we really want to know. Example: some horses run faster than others.
At retirement, switching from "I must" to "I want" leaves me puzzled and uneasy.
By the time I have clarified a thought, I no longer want to think it.
Birth dates and bathroom scales tell more truth than I want to know.
Lovers never want to say "I love you" at the same moment. Hence all the love stories.
The egg is the symbol of perfection. Do you want an egg?
The New York action painters want their pictures to jump off the walls and chase you down the street.
Yearning wants mostly to perpetuate itself.
The aphorism wants to be at the same time both main line and off beat.
If I want my time wasted, I'll waste it myself.
The sentimental want to be thrilled by everything.