Lust Quotes - Page 4

For men, I think, love is a thing formed of equal parts lust and astonishment. The astonishment part women understand. The lust part they only think they understand.

It's like she has some sort of captivating fire in her eyes. Sometimes she'll look at me and I feel like she's staring into my soul, reading everything I'm trying to keep hidden.

Douglas’s fridge was a stainless-steel masterpiece. I’m not that into appliances or anything, but this one was nice and probably cost more than my last apartment. I had the strange desire to hug it every time I came into the kitchen.

We don't fall in love, we fall in lust. We ascend to love.

There is a correlation between the number of days since a man last had sex, and, the number of women that he is convinced he is in love with, or, the number of things that he is willing to do for a woman.

Kartik feels like a country I want to travel—vast, dangerous, and unknown.

You look beautiful and fuckable

Wine and women make wise men dote and forsake God's law and do wrong." However, the fault is not in the wine, and often not in the woman. The fault is in the one who misuses the wine or the woman or other of God's crations. Even if you get drunk on the wine and through this greed you lapse into lechery, the wine is not to blame but you are, in being unable or unwilling to discipline yourself. And even if you look at a woman and become caught up in her beauty and assent to sin [= adultery; extramarital sex], the woman is not to blame nor is the beauty given her by God to be disparaged: rather, you are to blame for not keeping your heart more clear of wicked thoughts. ... If you feel yourself tempted by the sight of a woman, control your gaze better ... You are free to leave her. Nothing constrains you to commit lechery but your own lecherous heart.

I believe in the lust of the flesh and the incurable desolation of the soul.

You hate me because deep down you want to be me

There is a correlation between the number of days since a man last had sex, and, the number of things that he is willing to do for a woman.

I could see it all. The hand on the shoulder, then the hug. The mouths that find each other through the tears, the moment when guilt and the certainty that things must go no further gives way to lust and the certainty that they cannot stop.

You know, when I see a good-looking man, the first thing I think about is sex. I want to see him naked, and I imagine running my hands impatiently over his hot body.I can’t help it: it’s just how I am.

Now and then, an inch below the water's surface, the muscles of his stomach tightened involuntarily as he recalled another detail. A drop of water on her upper arm. Wet. An embroidered flower, a simple daisy, sewn between the cups of her bra. Her breasts wide apart and small. On her back, a mole half covered by a strap. When she climbed out of the pond a glimpse of the triangular darkness her knickers were supposed to conceal. Wet. He saw it, he made himself see it again. The way her pelvic bones stretched the material clear of the skin, the deep curve of her waist, her startling whiteness. When she reached for her skirt, a carelessly raised foot revealed a patch of soil on each pad of her sweetly diminished toes. Another mole the size of a farthing on her thigh and something purplish on her calf--a strawberry mark, a scar. Not blemishes. Adornments.

I'd let him get under my skin, and now he had started to occupy my every thought.

I will never leave you for I am intertwined in the fabric of you're being and my life blood's essence pulsates through your'e veins.

Ripe for romance? Is that not only the self-conscious and sensitive young man's way of saying he was heavy with passion? Is not, perhaps, romance only the fiction by means of which the tender-minded negotiate their lust?

(...) before they actually admit to the big 'L' word. Love or lust - what's the big, damn deal? You're going to  fuck either way, right?

Some primal force roared inside him, his possessive streak taking charge. He cupped the back of her head, her hair falling over the back of his hand like silk, and tightened his grip. The moment she softened against him, he took control.

The tiny match we've been fooling with just set off an explosion.

...remember after every autumn, the flora senses the rapturous kiss of cheerful spring.(Book-Love Vs Destiny)

I don't think I understand that," Meg insisted. "How can you lust yourself into oblivion. ""Oh, easily," Ekaterina answered. "The lust is for things, possessions. The weapon turns on the nature of possessions, the fact that every possession you own consumes a part of you. Tools, instruments, if they are more than conceits, these things do not defy the rule but they are exceptional enough they don't activate the weapon. Consequently, the mission of these alleged scientists is to create generalized lust, a frenzied lust for things unconnected to any sense of utility.

Blood rushed to the regions of my body that I associated with naughtiness, and I was powerless to stop it.

It's always easier to avoid temptation than to resist it.

For what is love if one loves a woman without knowing her? Just a decision to love? Or even an imitation? The question concerns us all: If, from our childhood on, the examples of love were not there inviting us to copy them, would we know what "loving" means?

You are the oxygen that inflames the lust in my soul...

And now I wnt love. Lust is no good for me. I want love. His love.

Day and night - ruthlessly apply key lessons of mankind such as leaving greed, fear and lust to improve the efficiency & effectiveness of life.

Build my night with your cheeks.

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.

He looked at me like I was the stars when all I’d ever felt like was the dark nothingness between them.

It was the wildness of it that got me going: the primal lust, the sheer needs of two people in heat, quickly finding ways to express their sacred hunger to each other in animal passion.

Oh, sweet! New man meat’s made it to town, y’all. Let’s gobble.

They say I should stay away from you,” I said. “They said you’re not good for me.” t“I’m not,” he said with a wicked smile, “But doesn’t that make it even more fun?

I am Angel. I am demon. I am woman. I am heaven and hell rolled into one.Kiss me passionately, let me taste your desire, feed my soul and your heaven becomes mine...Beget a maelstrom, feel the abyss shudder. hear the wails of anguish and my hell becomes yours...

Henry closed his eyes and imagined the sweet petulant woundedness with which she had stared at him on the beach. He felt a little proud that she could love him.

Piper’s lust was like a single bear trap in the wilderness. It was nearly impossible to find if you were looking for it, but it was something you wanted to be prepared for if you stepped into it by accident.

I could feel his whole body trying to claim me, want me, own me in lust, and it made me feel so valuable and wanted. As I was bent over the table, I felt like I was the world to him, and he could think of nothing else, could feel nothing else: he was consumed with my body, dedicated to exploring my female sexual power and energy, and his desperate hitting of me with the belt felt like he would rather die, than be without the chance to connect with me in sex.

And I say,I crash in to things in the darkEven when the lights are onAnd I am wrong more often than I am writingAnd even then, I am often wrongBut when my friends are in the bathroom at the barRolling dollar bills in to telescopes,Claiming they can see God,I will come to you

I'm just not going to do it so that we can say that we've done it. And I'm not going to do it if the first thing you say afterwards is 'please don't tell anyone' or 'let's forget it ever happened'. If you have to keep something secret it's because you shouldn't be doing it in the first place!

He ran his finger along my jawline and down my neck. "The wait will be fun, but it's not going to be easy.

Passion gives you what you want, lust gives you what you desire, but only love gives you what you need.

I heard him sweeping with the broom, and then he suddenly stopped.I had obviously got his attention, and he was lo

Hate is never a far cry from love… Sometimes I stumble the lines drunken.. Hollering your name..

The air felt thick with the feeling between us, like it was filling the room: a room full of our carnal heat, our hot desire for each other. Both my hands were clenched on the tablecloth, bunching it tightly, as he continued to swipe the belt against my quivering ass cheeks, and I could feel his tight fist yank repeatedly on my hair.

To save face, it's better not to ask sex from the ex, but to give everything the axe.

Then a lightning bolt shot straight through my skivvies. Sha-ZAM!

The first stanza of Eyes In Moonlight Drown, a poem from DeadVerse.With your face framed in a halo of stars,your hair melts into trailing clouds,and your eyes in moonlight drown.A man could lose himselfin those freckled irises,reflecting the galaxies above;surely he could fall into their promiseof eternity, of Heaven, of love.Your lips glisten, part, and beckon,a smile of warm invitation,a suggestion of sweet intensity,a loss of self in addictive agony.For we translate these aestheticsinto something mystical;ideas of fantasy, of fiction,obscuring the clinical truthof chemical reactions,electric sparks, responsesas sure as gravity,measurable yet beyond cold,above philosophy and below truth.

Women always said he was warm. They snuggled with him in bed, grateful for the heat. A couple of his lovers even claimed that, when he was inside them, he heated them from the inside out.A pleasant flattery, perhaps, but one Hope would discover the truth of. For when she touched him, he did burn.

You have soul ties with the people you sleep with and even when you are no longer in bed with them, they remain in your head. Your thoughts are consumed by their absence in your life. We feel disconnected from something when we give away our most prized bodily asset to a person that can’t even spell our last name correctly

Love life comes last in my life. I put real life first.

Lipstick never lasted long when they were together; he would always kiss her after she had applied it, as if he liked the smearing viscous sensation. Sometimes she felt sure it was discomposing her that he enjoyed.

It's weird, marriage. It's like this license that gives a person the legal right to control their spouse / their 'other half.

Heterosexuality is the enjoyment with fear, the pleasure with responsibility and the lust with concerns.

There we were, filled with pure animal need, as he pinned me to the wooden table, and cruelly whipped my naked bottom; the two of us sweaty and panting, me screaming, him grunting, our primal sexual natures overprinting the tea room’s pretence at gentility, and refinement.

Loving you was hard, wanting you was harder, but kissing your forehead was insanity.

I kind of have to go to the bathroom," Aria said woozily.Ezra smiled. "Can I come?

To use good things to our own ends is always a false religion

I raised you so high that every other man on earth is now doomed to live in your shadow.

He’d never forgotten the sweep of her soft mouth against his, the taste of her sweetness, like strawberries, and the way she fired his insides to life.