Best 593 quotes in «attraction quotes» category

Nothing is more attractive than authenticity

Nothing like beautiful legs. 'Cause with beautiful legs, even if you've been there only once or twice, there might be something up there besides the cunt, there might be something really marvellous this time - it could be a cunt, but it could be - it's just something about looking at the legs just makes you - I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the cunt, I'm just saying, you always imagine - some extra magic when you're looking at the outside portion of the female.

Not the way he looks, but specifically the way he looks at me threatens my inhibitions. It’s all greedy yearning.

Obviously, genies worked out in their off-hours. He looked so good it was distracting.

Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty: he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this she was perfectly unaware: to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.

Often we find a friend, not by accident, by unknown inner attraction and synchronicity.

Oh my friend from future centuries, I am leaving my love and endless good wishes for you. I have no possessions to leave for you. I have a broken pen and a few pages of paper with thoughts that I am leaving for you. Believe in the power of your thoughts, truths of your perceptions, magic of joy in your dreams, and the attraction of your love and purity.

Oh, well, that's not bad, I suppose. I mean, I'd prefer devastatingly sophisticated - but almost endearing is more than I could have hoped for under the circumstances.

Once more Jane sat staring at the telephone. This time she was filled with a confidence that was new to her. Stan Crandall. Stanley Crandall. He liked her! He had seen her once, and even though had been rumpled and grass-stained and having a terrible time with Sandra, he liked her well enough to go to the trouble of finding out her name and calling to ask her to go to the movies. Jane smiled at the telephone and gave a sigh of happiness

One month. Thirty days. I could bury myself in my art and forget the feel of his lips sliding across mine. I could forget the scent of his cologne, the way my body reacted when he touched me. I sighed. Thirty days suddenly seemed like an eternity.

Our body is a sacred temple A place to connect with people. As we aren't staying any younger We might as well keep it stronger.

Over thinking ruins moods and kills good vibes.

O woman, thou art my imperfection!

Pamela was beautiful, it was true, and I felt that submerged attraction to her that everyone felt for the beautiful.

[Patricia Highsmith] went on to recommend that aspiring writers keep a notebook in which to jot down thoughts or ideas, that they should trust in the power of the unconscious and that they shouldn't force inspiration. In addition, it was important to avoid those who negated the creative process, sometimes people per se. 'The plane of social intercourse,' she said, 'is not the plane of creation, not the plane on which creative ideas fly [...] This is a curious thing, because sometimes the very people we are attracted to or in love with act as effectively as rubber insulators to the spark of inspiration.

People are like vines that grow upwards to the Sun in the heavens. Our ascent is inspired by seeking a deep connection with the divine. When we are attracted to others, we are attracted to a spark of the divine that is a reflection of our true being.

People will sometimes find themselves attracted to others, that's just who they are. It's what they do with that attraction that defines them.

put out the candles with your fire—I’m on fire

Reality is the manifestation of the inner workings, carried out by the supreme powers. Whatever you think and do right now, either positive or negative is working on your behalf because you are a co-worker of the divine.

Say thank you for a beautiful life and be grateful for the small things of life which are miracles we have actually got used to. Gratitude banishes negativity from your life, brings happiness and you start living in abundance and attract more love and prosperity because of the way you think about your life.

She exuded sexuality almost tangible, like ink obscuring the waters around the octopus before it strikes.

She had a thing for cocky assholes. When they expressed interest in her it seemed meaningful. When nice guys hit on her, she had trouble caring.

She half suspected that he had had been ordered by contract to look mouth-watering at all times. If he hadn't, it was really rude of him to persist in it. It was distracting.

She knew nothing of Ren except his name, his aptitude with vocabulary, the fact that he wasn’t in college, and the way his hair narrowed to a curling point at the nape of his neck. And she hadn’t even realized she knew that last thing until now.

Metal business cards are a good investment. Especially if you were to meet Magneto. He would have no other choice but to be attracted to you.

Pip wondered what the secret was of being different in a way that attracted people, as opposed to her own way.

Remember You Attract What You Think, Keep Your Thoughts Focus On What You Want and You’ll Be Amazed..

Rose looked down to the sheet of paper, saw a number and where to sign. Butch was holding out a pen for her to take. When she reached for the pen her fingers grazed lightly against his. She felt it. She saw it. The tiniest arc of electricity. It was as if flint and steel met, just waiting for the right moment to spark the dry tinder into a burning inferno.

S: But Chris, I think his embarrassment isn't in relation to you or me but to himself. What can he do? C: I hate being thrown into such a physical state. S: Isn't that experiencing life to the hilt? C: No, it's just a dumb infatuation. I'm so ashamed. S: But even if his silence hurts you, isn't that what attracted you to him? The fact that he was inaccessible. So, I think there is a contradiction there, at least nothing to feel ashamed of -.

See yourself living in abundance and you will attract it. It always works, it works every time with every person" - Bob Proctor

She fairly vibrated with pleasure. He sat at an angle so he could watch her, and he saw the delight in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, her dreamy, dazed expression as the music flowed around her. Beneath the diamonds her creamy chest rose and fell, and her red hair streamed over her shoulders like a shawl. Her mass of unbound hair was a lure and an affront to proper society. Exactly as he wished. Her lips were parted in wonder, and he felt his own sense of wonder: what those lips would taste like.

She frowned. “I did nothing to arouse you.” He clenched his jaw, his stare growing more aggressive. “You breathed.

She hadn’t known that the ability to make pancakes from scratch made a man brutally hot. Now she did.

She had sought me out. I knew it would happen. Even if I had switched to a different section, she would have sought me out all the same. She, who hid in the crowd, who didn’t want anyone to see her behind her veil of averted eyes and aloofness. When I stepped forward, she came out, too. And she pointed and said, revealing a child’s wanton smile: “That’s the one I want.” And like a potted sunflower that had just been sold to a customer, I was taken away. There was no way to refuse. This, from a beautiful girl that I was already deeply, viscerally attracted to. Things were getting good.

She had to remember not to look at him when he smiled like that.

She placed down her martini glass and extended her hand. “My name’s Kelsey. I own The Water’s Edge up the street. Hope we can take your mind off the raincloud hovering over your head, Eeyore.

She may resemble a mythical angel, but she moved like an x-rated wet dream

She remembered Fiona saying something once, there was nothing more attractive than a competent man. At the time she'd been a young girl, without true understanding, but now she agreed.

She’s really not my kind of girl — most of them have tattoos or nose rings — but there’s something about her smile. She smiles like she’s in love with whoever she’s looking at. She smiled at me a few months ago. I’ve been trying to get her to do it again ever since.

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to his lips. And he knew she felt it too.

She stared at him dully and said: “I don’t like crooks, and even if I did, I wouldn’t like crooks that are stool-pigeons, and if I liked crooks that are stool-pigeons, I still wouldn’t like you.” She turned to the outer door.

She knew exactly how he was feeling, because experience had taught her that the kind of excitement she was feeling at that moment was never, ever one-sided. On the contrary, she knew that it was born of acute and mutual anticipation, and she knew, too, that it would not be denied.

She laughed, and the sound was tantalizing. He didn't understand how musical notes could stroke a man's skin and dance along his thighs. He didn't understand how the notes could be an arrow that pierced his heart. She owned him.

She was almost too beautiful. Maybe that sounded stupid, but there wasn't another way to describe it.

She was asked, “What do you see in him?” Taken aback, she replied, “What does he see in me?” Others too wondered why she chose him – not as handsome as the others, not one with a lot of possessions or even status, but little did they know, as little minds go, that she chose the one who wanted her most.

She was Bloomingdale’s, not Victoria Secret. She was vanilla, not peach. She was Paul Reiser, not Lenny Bruce. This was not my kind of chick.

She was an anomaly of her own universe and of his, and represented the collision of everything he'd ever known and everything he'd ever wanted to.

She was his Eve. He was her fall. He'd make the leaves of her trees blush, then he'd undress them all.

She was told it was magnetism that kept them engaged, and how do you separate magnets? You force them apart.

She was unique: there was something abnormal about her, and it was that abnormal something that made her magnetic.