Best 7189 quotes in «sex quotes» category

I don't know what you do about sex and I don't want to know, but this is not the way to go about it. You're what – fifty-two? Do you think a young girl finds any pleasure in going to bed with a man of that age? Do you think she finds it good to watch you in the middle of your...? Do you ever think about that?" He is silent. "Don't expect sympathy from me, David, and don't expect sympathy from anyone else either. No sympathy, no mercy, not in this day and age. Everyone's hand will be against you, and why not? Really, how could you?" The old tone has entered, the tone of the last years of their married life: passionate recrimination. Even Rosalind must be aware of that. Yet perhaps she has a point. Perhaps it is the right of the young to be protected from the sight of their elders in the throes of passion. That is what whores are for, after all: to put up with the ecstasies of the unlovely.

I don't like doing anything that makes you sweat if you don't come at the end of it.

I don't know who tried to teach him what to do in the bedroom, but it must have been a furniture salesman.

I Don’t Know whether lust is a human coarseness or a human fineness: I don’t know why death holds a so sweet lure since it would take away my Body: I don’t know that I wouldn’t deny my Christ, if I had one, three times before a given cockcrow: I don’t know on the other hand that I would: I don’t know whether honor is a reality in human beings or a pose: I don’t know that I mayn’t be able to think with my Body when it is in its coffin.

I don't mind admitting that I, too, have watched Hilton undergoing the sexual act. I phrase it as crudely as that because it was one of the least erotic such sequences I have ever seen. She seemed to know what was expected of her and to manifest some hard-won expertise, but I could almost have believed that she was drugged. At no point did her facial expression match even the simulacrum of lovemaking.

I don't see anything other than pretensions and low mentality in women who make a man run after a hole that would soon be inhabited by termites and worms.

I don't need a mate,” she muttered, staring up at the bright circle of the early autumn moon. “But can't you send me a nice, sexy, strongmale to dance with? Pretty please?” She hadn't had a lover for close to eight months now, and it was starting to hurt on every level. “He doesn't even have to be smart, just good between the sheets.” Good enough to unsnap the tension in her body, allow her to function again. Because sex wasn't simply about pleasure for a cat like her—it was about affection, about trust, about everything good. “Though right this second, I'd take plain old hot sex.” That was when Riley walked out of the shadows. “Got an itch, kitty?” Snapping to her feet, she narrowed her eyes, knowing he had to have deliberately stayed downwind in order to sneak up on her. “Spying?” “When you're talking loud enough to wake the dead?” She swore she could feel steam coming out her ears.

I don't need the aid of a clever man to teach me how to live. I can find it out for myself.

I don’t think that loneliness is necessarily a bad or unconstructive condition. My own skill at jamming time may actually be dependent on some fluid mixture of emotions, among them curiosity, sexual desire, and love, all suspended in a solvent medium of loneliness. I like the heroes or heroines of books I read to be living alone, and feeling lonely, because reading is itself a state of artificially enhanced loneliness. Loneliness makes you consider other people’s lives, makes you more polite to those you deal with in passing, dampens irony and cynicism. The interior of the Fold is, of course, the place of ultimate loneliness, and I like it there. But there are times when the wish for others’ voices, for friendliness returned, reaches unpleasant levels, and becomes a kind of immobilizing pain. That was how it felt as I finished packing up the box of sex machines.

I don’t want this,” Sirus uttered, his voice stripped bare. “Me either.” Grey sounded as if he were in agony. Swearing, they flew at each other in a furious kiss.

I don’t want to be your snack, your chew-toy, your fuck-buddy. Find a vampire to sink your fang into.

I drank from the crisp mountain stream, tasting filtered sky with a mossy undertone. I’ve never understood how being loved fully could change your entire perspective of the world. I only ever understood the wistfulness of it, and the longing and the frothy, violent bits. The mixed up, rained on parts. The escaped bits that smudge and bleed through. Slowly, I am coming to terms with how vulnerable I am to you, flat on my back like a submissive wolf pup. Daisy petals line your eyelashes, juice of a nectarine flavors your tongue. The side of your mouth twitches, hazy dreamscapes overtaking your mind while we bathe in the glorious autumn devastation.

I'd rather love the same woman for a hundred years than sleep with someone new every night.

Ieder orgasme is een kleine echo van de oerknal; geen wonder dat sex, erotiek en pornografie van alle tijden zijn. (Translated into English: 'Every orgasm is a little echo of the Big Bang; no wonder sex, erotica and pornography are of all times.' )

I encourage you to tend to the garden of your own heart. Plant seeds of love. Let light through. Till the soil in the dark and cut the weeds. Water yourself with kindness and compassion. By healing within, you stop attracting relationships that are unhealthy for you. Love yourself repeatedly until it becomes ritual; if you love yourself first, everything is possible. The cosmic orgasm is possible. I am speaking to everyone, not only singles; it’s easy to forget these steps when you’re in a relationship or partnership.

if a chick can't dance, she can't ride dick, simple as that ...

If a girl wants to sell her body, so be it. None of my business. Don't athletes sell their bodies, too? People can do behind closed doors whatever they want, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else.

If a man or a woman starts “expecting” sex, then it is no longer special, and a lover will likely start to feel used.

If a man brags about his sex life he's a stud, but if a woman brags about her sex life she's a slut.

If any woman opens her legs for you, don't feel so lucky to be fed with nonsense, she has been a bitch for a long time, and now its your own turn to get a share from her itching tunnel.

If anybody studying psychology wants a concrete example of what a narcissist looks like, I advise them to consider any man who cheats on his wife. These guys are the textbook me-firsters, the ones who think the rules don't apply to them, the ones who tell themselves as long as she doesn't know, there's no harm done. No woman needs to sleep with these guys. There are so many single self-absorbed narcissists who will fuck you poorly.

- If a woman wears short skirt in the company of man it means "I want to fuck", if she talks with a man when she wears short skirt it means "I want to fuck just you". - And if I have no clothes now? - It means that I'm gonna fuck you right now!

If a woman becomes more dominating on her husband, he may not be as playful in bed as he could be otherwise.

If a woman's vagina was hell fire, then alot of sex maniacs would prefer to spend their eternity in hell.

If children learn of sex as a relation between their parents to which they owe their own existence, they learn of it in its best form and in connection with its biological purpose.

If being premenstrual is “innocence,” does that make those of us with periods guilty? And this really gets to the heart of the matter: These concerns aren't about lost innocence; they're about lost girlhood. The virginity movement doesn't want women to be adults. Despite the movement's protestations about how this focus on innocence or preserving virginity is just a way of protecting girls, the truth is, it isn't a way to desexualize them. It simply positions their sexuality as “good”— worth talking about, protecting, and valuing—and women's sexuality, adult sexuality, as bad and wrong. The (perhaps) unintended consequences of this focus is that girl's sexuality is sexualized and fetishized even further.

If Blondie here wanted to watch me fuck his smoking-hot girlfriend, I was down. And if she wanted to watch me bang him, fine. I'd do them both. I wasn't picky. I wanted to be touched. So badly.

If earnings are to be spent on sex, what's wrong in earning from the sex. (The protagonist, Manav when blinded by kaam)

I feel abnormally aware of the air in my lungs and of the blood in my body. Brian’s breath is loud and reminds me that he is a person and that he is alive and so am I. I put his hand on my throat to stop my breath and try to subdue this feeling of being a person who breathes and takes up space and fucks people, but he won’t keep his hand there. He moves it to my waist and kisses my forehead. I feel a cold rush down my body and suddenly I’m panicked. I wonder if Brian has ever been with a girl who loved him before. I wonder if there is a person out in the world who would feel sick at the thought of him being naked with me. I cannot shake this thought. I become sure of it. I suddenly feel a sickening, overwhelming guilt. I have to close my eyes to stop from crying at the thought of the girl I have imagined.

I feared if I spoke I would no longer be happy, or would be so in a way that I did not want to be, and so I surrendered myself body and soul to the joy that was inundating my whole being and that I could see was mutual. My happiness so overwhelmed my senses that it reached the point where nature, drowning in supreme pleasure, exhausts itself. For the space of a minute I remained motionless, in intellectual contemplation and adoration of my own apotheosis. Sight and touch, which I had thought must be the main characters in this drama, played only secondary roles. My eyes desired no greater happiness than to remain fixed on the face of the creature charming them, while my touch, limited to my fingertips, feared to move, since it could conceive of no greater sensation.

I felt in some ways we'd had some sort of sex, sex of the mind, sex of ideas, sex of words, hundreds and thousands of words...

I feel like I’m a disappointment to mankind,” he remarked woefully as he placed the shirt through my arms and began to pull it down over my breasts. “Someone this gorgeous should be on display in a museum.

I feel like you’re trying to convince me that we don’t need condoms, but fuck that. If you impregnate me, I’m going to devour “ you like a praying mantis.” I pin Zeph against the wall and kiss her hard, because her threatening to kill or mutilate me is always so hot.

If everyone could spend some time self analysing, spend some quiet time with nothing to do and nowhere to go, then without a doubt the world would be an infinitely better place to live and play. It would probably be the cause of the end of bullying, teen suicide, anxiety, depression, stress, and fear and the start of a more genuine and authentic world. I have found that my tranquillity and peacefulness grew significantly stronger as I began to live comfortably with my desires and cravings.

If finding a woman in your bed is so distressing, magus, you should rethink the direction your life’s taken.

If hitting an unexpected speed bump with your car equates to the best sex you've had lately, you know your hormones are sending you a signal.

If he had a floppy dick, I would hardly expect him to find a way to shove it in regardless of the obvious indicator that things weren't ready yet. Why is the reverse acceptable?

If I am capable of loving you Lord MacCaulay, of devoting myself to you, it will never be under the terms to which other women submit, for I am battle-born – a female warrior sworn to defy the bonds which enslave those of my sex. I will not, purely to follow common ideas of decency and femininity, give up my enjoyment of other men.” Mademoiselle Noire - The Gentlemen's Club

if I can't change the world," he told her, "I will change the way people look at it.

if god is real, she put all of herself into this girl. she vowed to unleash a woman so violently herself, the sky would collapse every time she came to orgasm.

If he knows where to put it and how to use it, who am I to argue?

If he doesn't want your heart. He doesn't deserve your body. Don't neglect your SELF-RESPECT.

If I had thought the beef marrow might be a hell of a lot of work for not much difference, I needn’t have worried. The taste of the marrow is rich, meaty, intense in a nearly-too-much way. In my increasingly depraved state, I could think of nothing at first but that it tasted like really good sex. But there was something more than that, even. What it really tastes like is life, well lived. Of course the cow I got marrow from had a fairly crappy life – lots of crowds and overmedication and bland food that might or might not have been a relative. But deep in his or her bones, there was a capacity for feral joy. I could taste it.

If I don't let Manu sleep with me, though I regard it as essential that she should," he announced, "wouldn't that be a sign of weakness in me?

i find you in every echo, i find you in every dream, i find you in every feeling in the depths of my inner being.

If it was possible for two people to make sparks, simply by connecting at their lips, I would think we would have been a firework display in the dark.

If it's true that men and women can be 'just friends' then how come all cheaters first start out as 'just friends?

If my ex-husband could move on, I could, too. I would search for my gardener, someone who would help me to grow and bloom, but who would recognize the fragility of a new flower just starting to poke out of the ground. If I was lucky, he’d have a long cultivator.

If one starts with the anatomical difference, which even a patriarchal Viennese novelist was able to see was destiny, then one begins to understand why men and women don't get on very well within marriage, or indeed in any exclusive sort of long-range sexual relationship. He is designed to make as many babies as possible with as many different women as he can get his hands on, while she is designed to take time off from her busy schedule as astronaut or role model to lay an egg and bring up the result. Male and female are on different sexual tracks, and that cannot be changed by the Book or any book. Since all our natural instincts are carefully perverted from birth, it is no wonder that we tend to be, if not all of us serial killers, killers of our own true nature.

If only mankind could hold its own fertility in awe, which is one and the same whether it manifests itself in the spirit or in the flesh. For creativity in the spirit has its origins in the physical kind, is of one nature with it and only a more delicate, more rapt and less fleeting version of the carnal sort of sex.