Lust Quotes - Page 2

Men can go to hell! I’ll meet them there.

I’m starving to learn more about her. A new hunger that I know only she could satisfy.

Her steel blue eyes captivated him at first glance and along with the alluring scent of jasmine surrounding her presence, he lost all sense of time and rhythm, and barely remembered the ensuing conversation. Thinking he had died and gone to heaven, the only thing that stuck in his memory, as they found themselves pressed urgently against the wall of her hotel room, was her name; Ginny.

Storytelling? God started that. Discovery. Lust. Murder. Revenge. Power. Sin. Redemption. Forgiveness. Miracles. We simply retell the stories in the language of our generation.

The day is crisp and clear, almost like every other morning he's taken the same walk in the snow, hiking to the forest and back.

A man may beat down the bitter fruit from an evil tree until he is weary; while the root abides in strength and vigour, the beating down of the present fruit will not hinder it from bringing forth more. This is the folly of some men; they set themselves with all earnestness and diligence against the appearing eruption of lust, but, leaving the principle and root untouched, perhaps unsearched out, they make but little or no progress in this work of mortification.

You are my drug of choiceI know you’re no good for meAnd though I swear my lipsWill never touch you againHere we are, here we are.

Lust is a dangerous thing. It can make you believe things that are not real. It can seduce your mind and lead it blindfolded to the cliff that will be its demise.

The word lust [can] mean “selfish desire.” . . .It is wanting something so badly you will do anything to get it. That is one of the tricks of the devil. It is too high a price to pay.

Butterflies. Everyday.

Extraordinarily excessive sensuality it may be .. but it all comes down to the same thing in the end, and one means is surely as good as another, since the end obtained is always the same. In any case the exceptional, endlessly repeated, is no different than the banal; and unceasing recapitulation can add nothing, in the end, to the sum of experience. I am weary and hopeless three times the dupe. Why have you trained me in the shame of abominable sins?

I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest. I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.

A deep kiss can put you in an emotional state of coma, sometimes in a reckless vulnerability, we lose virginity and sanity, and maybe our bond of love becomes strong or weak.

Oh, she was okay, just tired, tired of trying to be the one you wanted, the one you couldn't live without, the one you found yourself reaching out an arm for as she teetered from crisis to crisis to crisis only to collapse in your bed at the end of the day, a tortured sylph in black lace. Except she never really was. And you never really did. Or maybe you did for one night. The next night was another matter. It turned out the world was filled with beautiful girls. It turned out being beautiful wasn't nearly enough

He had been violently confused by her real presence in the opposite inaccessible corner. For months he had been possessed by the imagination of her. She had been distant and closed away, a princess in a tower, and his imagination’s work had been all to make her present, all of her, to his mind and senses, the quickness of her and the mystery, the whiteness of her, which was part of her extreme magnetism, and the green look of those piercing or occluded eyes. Her presence had been unimaginable, or more strictly, only to be imagined. Yet here she was, and he was engaged in observing the ways in which she resembled, or differed from, the woman he dreamed, or reached for in sleep, or would fight for.

It was then you'd have thought I'd been shot by a Taser, as paralyzed as I was at the sight of her - the perfect feminine form, the image hitting me with the velocity of a Slurpee-like brain-freeze, rendering me again the helpless, hapless male. Any trace of rationality or logic or even common sense that might've been there before is quickly abandoning ship, leaving Dickbrain at the helm and Lust navigating,

Even when I'm sleeping, I go to places where you are.

The sensation that seized me that morning―the twentieth of May―as I sat on my velvet cushion beside the Pope and stared down at the man standing beside my husband, was swift, irrevocable, and violent, like a dagger plunged into the heart. I trembled. I did not want it; I did not seek it; yet there it was, and I was at the mercy of it. And I knew nothing of the man who had just stolen my soul.

And I will remember how we made the sun blush every morning.

I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings.

Walking towards love is wiser than falling into it.

cherry reddenim tornholding closethe smell of warm

No matter how we may rationalize the practice [of homosexuality] . . . Romans 1 makes it clearly the product of a reprobate mind . . .I am not exonerating all heterosexual activity . . . When we come to Christ, we are called upon to repent of our sins and no longer to practice the ungodly patterns of living.

She pushed my chest like she wanted me off of her, but her fingers had my shirt clutched in them and I knew she was full of shit. She wanted me.

Like everything else, we know the futility of money only when we have more than enough of it.

You were a luminescent star in the darkened sky that became my universe.

When her mouth found mine I disassembled. Not exploded like a bomb or anything, but came apart. A few pieces at a time. They floated away, went into a kind of orbit. A splintering galaxy. An extravagant slow motion annihilation. The only center was her mouth, her hair. It was her. A reconstitution around the core of her.

I know I'm not going to be in your head all the time. But once you know me, I'll be forever in your heart. 

She watches Simon's profile as he drives, concentrating, but he keeps turning to her, and every time he does so, he is smiling. He doesn't seem to care, and she wonders if, actually, he wants to be caught. In some ways she does, because she knows, already, albeit crazily swiftly, that she wants more of this man, that once was never, ever going to be enough.

Love is an admiration that comes with patience. Lust is an admiration that comes with impatience. In all, admiration is common but patience is not!

My breath caught fire and my heart leapt infinite beats within his proximity."Wreck me, tame me. The way you want it." I whispered my plea.His foggy grey eyes glinted with desire and lust. "I will". The two words were my end as well as the beginning of something new and insurmountable between us.

A punching bag. The guy was pounding on a punching bag. That realization took about a nanosecond to register in her brain before the real important information came to the forefront: LoriSue, God bless her slutty little soul, had been absolutely correct. He was male-stripper material, and he’d been thoughtful enough to strip to a pair of athletic shorts on his very first night in the neighborhood.

Having someone this male next to her made her soul feel exhilarated and convey brazenly suggestive, female, liberal ideas to her inner id.

There is no dignity when the human dimension is eliminated from the person. In short, the problem with pornography is not that it shows too much of the person, but that it shows far too little.

Give me Pablo Neruda, picnic beneath a full moon & iridescent stars, black olives, cherries, dark things, canoe on a river...that's romance.

Megan loves orgasms so much, she would not hesitate to steal yours.

The secret tugs at my sleeve.A child looking for attention.It is not a big secret.But it is not the only one either.“Strength in numbers” they say.For they are many.Many little things that – together –weigh tonnes.And take up space.And are quite noisy.The way only a lot of whispers can make noise.And they follow me.Little secretsof omission, desire,and denial.Of indulgence, hedonism,and exploration.Of peeves, passion,and deep-seated fear.Little secretsof despairanddisrepairandprohibited thoroughfare.

You have the body of a god and the smile of a demon. I walk towards you, barefoot, a believer walking a religious path. I wrap my arms around your neck, a priest hugging his crucifix. I offer you my all. Burn me like incense. Let's make all the church bells in hell ring just for us.

It's a good day when a goddess gets on the school-bus with you.

Gods, I wish the world was full of passive women.He thought for a moment longer, then scowled. On second thoughts, what a nightmare that'd be. It's the job of a man to fan the spark into flames, not quench it...

As I looked into his eyes, trying to see into the depths of that darkness, it hit me. It was subtle, but it hit me. The rush of attraction.

You must be careful. There are things that should never be given up. You must persevere.

Desire is the kind of thing thateats youandleaves you starving.

You are so close I want to breath you in.

You asked of me once, how high, high can beor if there was an exhibit..I smiled and then whispered..My thighs are the limit…

...as we are endowed. ...with rhetorics. ...none will deny. ...of innocence. ...towards scribbling. ...of love lines. ...and of lust. ...to what seems like male. ...to what seems like female. ...in those days. ...I mean nothing. ...but in high school.....even me. ...I can't deny.

Even before we met and long after we're both gone, my heart lives inside of yours. I'm forever and ever in love with you.

The first summer that we spent together,we did so many obscene things to each other, thatby the end of it, the trees blushed a shy shade of scarlet,leaves falling to the ground, scandalized by our acts.

Men feel about sex the way vampires feel about blood. They don't just like it, they crave it. That's why vampire stories always have strong sexual undercurrents. A vampire's hunger is simply a metaphor for a man's lust.

He pulled my head back further, and I could hear his ragged breathing as his mouth came close to my ear, sounding so desperate for me. God, I was turned on so much…

The patriarchy longs for the days 'when men were men' and women were oppressed, subservient - and they can see no wrong in it. It justifies its former power and lust to hold on to it - and if possible, to regain it by quoting fundamentalist and radical religion and tradition and calling it 'love'. Some love. How can oppression and power over another person's life ever be 'love'?

Undressing myself had no fun in it, now I had undressed her.

If it’s not one god it’s another. Allah or oil. Jesus or Jewels. Lenin or lust.

Jesus Christ!” A man could only take so much. She yelped as he snatched her up around the waist and sat her on the counter. “Sit there and don’t move. Don’t bat your eyes. Don’t lick your lips. Don’t get on your knees. And for God’s sake, don’t bend over.” He snatched the mixer off the floor. “Where the hell do you want it?

In the first place , I was removed from all the wickedness of the world here. I had neither the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, or the pride of life. I had nothing to covet; for I had all that I was now capable of enjoying.

Hope will lie to you, but lust is what it is; it never lies.

When you have indulged a lust, your wing drops off;you become lame, abandoned by a fantasy.…People fancy they are enjoying themselves,but they are really tearing out their wingsfor the sake of an illusion.

Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors

They looked at each other. They weren't thinking anymore. The time for that had come and gone. Smashed smiles lay ahead of them. But that would be later. Lay Ter.

The word of lust touches the body, the word of love touches the soul: feed the soul and starve the body.