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