Best 7189 quotes in «sex quotes» category

It is when I find my soul is lost and lustfully wandering betwixt heaven and hell, and in that moment of spiritual bliss when the chances of recovering from falling into the sexual abyss are zero... I find the odds extremely appealing....

It matters little which party has gotten lazy about delivering what their partner craves. It doesn’t take too many days or weeks for an unsatisfied partner to start to feel love-starved and sadly unfulfilled. If you want great sex in the bedroom, show love to each other outside the bedroom.

It may well be that we talk about sex more than anything else; we set our minds to the task; we convince ourselves that were have never said enough on the subject...where sex is concerned the most long-winded, the most impatient of societies is our own.

It occurred to me that as a man I could do anything, everything I wanted.

Tomorrow was my second chance to make things right but it never came. I’m sorry I never treasured the time we had for those regrets I take the blame. You gave everything you had. I took without giving back.” Sed paused in his song, feeling ridiculous for singing it to her while they made love. “Baby, you realize this song is about Trey’s dead dog, don’t you?

I took one look at him, my mouth started watering and my panties moistened with thick fluid as if he had touched my sensation and made me instantaneously combust.

I tried to push my body through his and completely disappear.

I tried sex once with a woman and it was Gala. It was overated. I tried sex once with a man and that man was the famous juggler Frederico Garcia Lorca. It was very painful.

I traced a finger along my bottom lip as I wondered what his erection would look like, and how I should seduce him. I thought what kind of approach would work best: whether to go in slow and seductively, or whether I should make him notice me in some hard and fast way.

I truly thought that it was a fact that every man was completely devoid of emotion, that sex was a tool of power for men.

It's a funny thing sensing someone else's sex drive. After a while, you get to mistaking it for your own.

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

It's all overrated, man. Sex is only a great thing if you're not getting any.

It's always new and astonishing when it's yours. Infatuation; sex; card tricks.

It's all about sex and territory, which are what will finish us off in the long run.

It's amazing what a woman will read into if you by accident, say I love you. Ten times out of ten, a guy means I love this.

It’s a shame that sex is not all about pretty girls, flowers, and white lingerie. When it comes down to it, it’s more like a sweaty visit to the abattoir, followed by a salty fish market.

It seemed inequitable at best that one could and did gain a reputation for things that left one both physically and emotionally unsatisfied.

It's cooler to be strong.

It’s easy for the body to be open to desiring different people because desire wells up and demands to be satisfied. It’s easy to categorize corporeal desire as sexuality, but if it has no means of merging with spiritual desire, then a rupture will occur between spirit and flesh. For ultimately passion and sex aren’t only expressed physically but through a true union between two spirits.

It seemed to me, watching, that if you were dextrous enough to gift-wrap an independent-minded amphibian, you could just about manage a condom.

It's funny, but Shakespeare, with all its passion, never does too well at the box office. And d'you know why? Because most people are fools. They shrink like violets from good, honest passion, which, if only they'd be honest and admit it, is all they feel themselves in the name of love. They will wrap sex up in pretty, piffling declarations of love. The big, tough hero must carry his mate off into the bush, but by heaven, if he doesn't say, afterwards, 'I love you, darling' — cut! The censor is swooning. Or the public are.

It's funny, this - so many words to describe the same thing,” she smiled...“Penis is simply an anatomical appendage, as exciting as a finger or a phalange. A willy is something small and flaccid, and at least slightly humorous. Prick is the organ as viewed with distaste, perhaps with so much as to describe the entire body it’s attached to, like a dick, but more so. Phallus is a symbol of fertility, but my favourite...is the cock, which is only ever the hard, real thing, unleashed and ready to dive head-first into any waiting orifice. Or hole, while I’m in thesaurus mode.

It's hard to argue over money when a girl flashes you her pussy.

It's hard to fuck your girlfriend when she's fucked up and you're not. It's harder than the skee-ball they used to have at the Plaza arcade, all that agony over a fuzzy piece.

It's hard to imagine talking to Lucy. But I can imagine sleeping with her. I have been imagining it quite regularly. I can't stop imagining it. Maybe it's time for my first Lucy Branch, my first truly physical relationship. And why do I assume it would be a bad thing? Maybe it's better with someone different from you. I could teach her how fluorocarbons affect the ozone. She could teach me about oral sex. We would both become better people.

It shows too much. Women are meant to be inhaled, not impaled.

It should all feel splendid. You tell me if it doesn't, and I shall rectify the situation.

It's just not as hot without biting, scratching, and spanking, involved.

It's just sex." "Its never just sex", he said.

It’s like I’m suddenly a hormonally charged teenager or living in a bad romance novel: I suddenly can’t stop myself from noticing every man around me. Which means that Darcy, Samantha, and Michael are probably right. Plus, there was that disturbing dream about Voldemort this morning. I need to lose my gay-husband virginity before I lose my mind entirely. I need to find someone to sleep with me. And the fact that I don’t have the faintest idea how to make that happen is just further proof that it needs to. —SINGLE-MINDED

It smells of blood and honey, of sex and song.

It’s me, you fool. Who do you think it is? I’m coming in.” He was already naked. She turned away from him as he slipped in by her side but he caught her in his arms and felt her body thaw his belly and thighs. That was all, just to lie there listening to the breathing and the silence and feel the warmth colour his belly and thighs and head. She never wore clothes in bed. They were naked and the warmth run out of her. He wanted to laugh, because it was such a marvelous discovery to make, this warmth. She was hissing like a snake. “No, it’s wrong.” She went on hissing. She brought an elbow back smartly and struck him in the paunch. She seemed all elbows, shoulder blades and heels. It was like trying to make love to a dough-mixing machine. She wanted it, didn’t she, otherwise why all this hissing and moaning?

It's not the sex that gives you pleasure, it's the lover. For the remainder of my life, I plan to give this woman as much as she can handle, and then some. Often. Repeatedly.

It’s not what’s happened or what’s about to happen; what’s important is the sense of emotional uncertainty between the characters and the delicacy of the mutual trust being established.

It's probably not easy for a woman to understand what it's like to be a man. Imagine you're starving, and someone puts a huge buffet in front of you. There's delicious, mouth-watering food all around you, and it's really really hard not to eat it all. That's what it's like to be a man around attractive women. The urge to want to hump everything that moves is part of a man's natural programming. It's a deep-seated hunger. To suppress that hunger takes civilization and a lot of willpower.

It's only pre-marital sex if you plan on getting married.

It’s so fucking pretty.”
 He opened one eye and squinted down at her. “Did you just call my dick ‘pretty’?”

It's so hard to think about designing our dream home when all l wanna do is lay you out like a blueprint & bring you the lumber you require.

It's reassurance, yes it's sure to be, lick in between your legs, a mouth full of your femininity. I guess you know how my words are so persuasive, persuade you in a position foreign to your native. Hawaiian punch rose petals spread all over this marble floor, glasses of sparkling wine as you walk through the door. Deep with purpose, impress this on your subconscious, fatal, it's like having sex with your mental.

It's so screwed up, the standards...You should like it, but you shouldn't like it too much or talk about how much you like it. You should do it, but you shouldn't do it with too many people or talk about how much you're doing it. It's like there are so many rules, but none of them make sense.

It's simple: Women who pick at their food hate sex. Women who suck the meat off of lobster claws, order (and finish) dessert- these are the women who are going to rip your clothes off and come back for seconds.

It's unnerving how you fit in the basin of my thighs.

It's the height of bad manners to sleep with somebody less than three times.

It's the last frontier to conquer, other people, strangers, the jungle of their arms and legs, hair and skin, the smells and moans that is everybody you haven't done. The great unknowns. The last forest to devastate. Here's everything you've only imagined.

It's theology. Were you expecting sex, drugs, and rock and roll?" "One out of the three would be nice.

It's the way of the lay, not the size of the prize.

It's your world, but I make my way in it. At fifteen, no, I couldn't stand up to you. The age of illusions, when we know nothing, we hope for everything; we're wandering in a mist ... And the half of the world that's never had any use for us, suddenly is besieging us. You need us, you adore us, you're suffering for us. You want everything--except to know what we think. You look deep in our eyes--and put your hand up our dress. You call us, "Pretty thing." That confuses us. The most beautiful woman, the highest ranked, lives half dazzled by constant attention, half stifled by obvious contempt. We think all we're good for is pleasing you--till one day, long acquaintance with you dispels the last mist. In a clear light, we suddenly see you as you are--and generally we start preferring ourselves. At thirty, I could finally say no--or really say yes. That's when you begin backing away from us. Now I'm full-grown. I pursue my happiness the same as any man.

It's true what they say, you know. First fuck. First love. First kill. You never forget your first.

It took a couple of months before we were both convinced there were no rules about sexual activities in Hell and our spouses were not going to show up out of the blue. It was hard to start a sexual relationship in circumstances of such bizarre uncertainty, especially for an active Mormon and a good Christian, both lost in a Zoroastrian Hell. We were like virgin newlyweds. All my life I’d been raised to believe this kind of thing was wrong. All my life I had lived with a strong sense of morality. How do you give it up? How do you do things you thought you’d never do? Where do all the things you believed go, when all the supporting structure is found to be a myth? How do you know how or on what to take a moral stand, how do you behave when it turns out there are no cosmic rules, no categorical imperatives? It was difficult. So tricky to untangle.