Best 69 quotes in «love making quotes» category

I smile at you, hinting at the pleasures ahead, and silently point to the zip at the back of my dress…

I believed that no man in this world deserves me until I met you.

If I were born a woman, my clothes would be for any man with rough hands to tear down and my body to be made love to by any heart lost enough to love

Lovemaking is a big grammatical error, i think it should be, LustMaking.

Just sex without love will leave you unfulfilled. Sleeping around with multiple partners will not fulfill the need of love-making or the lack of loving touch you have since childhood.

Making love is not necessary to make love.

Just sex without love will leave you unfulfilled.

Make love to me and calm my demons.

Making love is not magical, if there is no love.

No one knows we're there, no one sees us. We never leave the room. I think about the secret voice you use when you make love. No one but that person will ever hear it. And here, we listen to each other, but we lock it in with touch, and the room vacuum seals it to stay fresh until we can breathe together again. When he breaks the silence it is to say, "I want you to know that, when you get pregnant, nothing is going to change except your dress size.

Our eyes will know the heavens if our lips stay for each other.

No words. Just my finger pointing in silence. My finger silently saying, ’Unwrap me, darling.

Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.

Ô, Muse of the Heart’s Passion, let me relive my Love’s memory, to remember her body, so brave and so free, and the sound of my Dreameress singing to me, and the scent of my Dreameress sleeping by me, Ô, sing, sweet Muse, my soliloquy!

Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess When did you feel your most euphoric kiss? Was I the source of your greatest bliss?

Not to waste the spring I threw down everything, And ran into the open world To sing what I could sing... To dance what I could dance! And join with everyone! I wandered with a reckless heart beneath the newborn sun. First stepping through the blushing dawn, I crossed beneath a garden bower, counting every hermit thrush, counting every hour. When morning's light was ripe at last, I stumbled on with reckless feet; and found two nymphs engaged in play, approaching them stirred no retreat. With naked skin, their weaving hands, in form akin to Calliope's maids, shook winter currents from their hair to weave within them vernal braids. I grabbed the first, who seemed the stronger by her soft and dewy leg, and swore blind eyes, Lest I find I, before Diana, a hunted stag. But the nymphs they laughed, and shook their heads. and begged I drop beseeching hands. For one was no goddess, the other no huntress, merely two girls at play in the early day. "Please come to us, with unblinded eyes, and raise your ready lips. We will wash your mouth with watery sighs, weave you springtime with our fingertips." So the nymphs they spoke, we kissed and laid, by noontime's hour, our love was made, Like braided chains of crocus stems, We lay entwined, I laid with them, Our breath, one glassy, tideless sea, Our bodies draping wearily. We slept, I slept so lucidly, with hopes to stay this memory. I woke in dusty afternoon, Alone, the nymphs had left too soon, I searched where perched upon my knees Heard only larks' songs in the trees. "Be you, the larks, my far-flung maids? With lilac feet and branchlike braids... Who sing sweet odes to my elation, in your larking exaltation!" With these, my clumsy, carefree words, The birds they stirred and flew away, "Be I, poor Actaeon," I cried, "Be dead… Before they, like Hippodamia, be gone astray!" Yet these words, too late, remained unheard, By lark, that parting, morning bird. I looked upon its parting flight, and smelled the coming of the night; desirous, I gazed upon its jaunt, as Leander gazes Hellespont. Now the hour was ripe and dark, sensuous memories of sunlight past, I stood alone in garden bowers and asked the value of my hours. Time was spent or time was tossed, Life was loved and life was lost. I kissed the flesh of tender girls, I heard the songs of vernal birds. I gazed upon the blushing light, aware of day before the night. So let me ask and hear a thought: Did I live the spring I’d sought? It's true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren't lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o'er crests of trees, to none belong; o'er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I'll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.

She'll be really impressed if you take control and let her follow your lead.

Sex is not just about going in or letting in, it is really about welcoming your dearly beloved into the deepest regions of your psyche which are inaccessible to anybody else.

Sexual intimacy is not the destination, it is the path - the path that leads to mental union.

She seemed fixed into a trance when he laid her down, his hand bracing her head as he smothered her in kisses.

Sometimes you look around the world, to see the dazzling walls and showering fountains of it, and feel like that today is the end and beginning at the same time. That's the moment you discover something new of yourself. That's love, cause and life.

She takes my hand, kissing each finger, each knuckle and my pulse throbs inside my wrist. “Please. We already know each other, so well. I’m ready to give the last part of myself to you.

Take control from the moment you step in her place. She'll be pleasantly surprised and impressed.

That night they made love, the kind of love-making that is another country, a country of its own, not yours or mine.

The hour of spring was dark at last, sensuous memories of sunlight past, I stood alone in garden bowers and asked the value of my hours. Time was spent or time was tossed, Life was loved and life was lost. I kissed the flesh of tender girls, I heard the songs of vernal birds. I gazed upon the blushing light, aware of day before the night. So let me ask and hear a thought: Did I live the spring I’d sought? It's true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren't lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o'er crests of trees, to none belong; o'er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true... From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.

The only self control I have when I am with you is that I am with you.

There is no such thing as “vaginal orgasm” vs. “clitoral orgasm”. The entire ring of tissues that surrounds the vaginal opening is connected to the clitoris by nerves and blood vessels. Ultimately all these tissues together are responsible for the female orgasm. This entire erogenous zone is often referred to as the “ring of fire”.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful. From the time he met Tereza, no woman had the right to leave the slightest impression on that part of his brain. Tereza occupied his poetic memory like a despot and exterminated all other trace of other women. That was unfair, because the young woman he made love to on the rug during the storm was not a bit less worthy of poetry than Tereza. She shouted, ‘Close your eyes! Squeeze my hips! Hold me tight!; she could not stand it that when Tomas made love he kept his eyes open, focused and observant, his body ever so slightly arched above her, never pressing against her skin. She did now want him to study her. She wanted to draw him into the magic stream that may be entered only with closed eyes. [..] She wanted to merge with him. [..] 'It’s not sensual pleasure I’m after,’ she would say, 'it’s happiness. And pleasure without happiness is not pleasure.’ In other words, she was pounding on the gate of his poetic memory. But the gate was shut. There was no room for her in his poetic memory. There was room for her only on the rug.

Through sexual intimacy, two human beings become one mind, body and soul wrapped up in the cocoon of their skin.

Vikrant : "I want to taste honey pot, You are shy, free yourself, like an animal, feel like an animal, they don't know sin. Do they?

Through memory to knowledge on the way to stars that are stepping down to the stuffy rooms of modern bureaucrats, illuminating their ceilings, their horizons where everything is easily resolved by the piles of paper and recipes for how to live, create, run, eat, breathe, learn how to love, how to make love, how to sleep, how to dream, how happiness is achieved under the artificial stars of the new sky that emerged from the bureaucratic rooms of aspiring and impotent minds, unable to love, even though they had all their life to learn what they preach.

When the humours were handed out, Ankh-Morpork got the one for joking and Quirm had to do make do with their expertise in fine dining and love-making.

You may be theoretically rich but practically poor.

To a woman sexual intimacy is more a tool to get mentally close to her partner than merely a means to physical pleasure.

...we've let go of so many things, but never each other's hand ...

Flaws are awesome - so, flawsome! I love making up a word.

Even in the midst of love-making, writers are working on the description.

For me there is a reluctance to be in front of cameras. I love making music but with that comes a lot of responsibility and you have to put yourself out there more.

I blow up fireworks all the time, and I love making milkshakes and banana splits.

I am curious, I love making discoveries, travelling, speaking with people, go shopping.

I also learned that I love making money. Anyone who is not afraid of work will be happy with the money they make.

I just love making music. I always stay in the studio. Making music is my main focus.

I can get a script and go, "Well, I'd rather do stand-up." I don't hold movies in higher regard. I love making videos and posting. I love TV.

I go to the studio every day, but I dont paint every day. I love playing with my architectural models. I love making plans. I could spend my life arranging things.

I have fun making films. I love making films. It's the only thing I know how to do. And I do it well.

I love making films more than anything, but it's tough.

I love making films, but the best roles are hard to come by.

I love making Italian food. And coconut chicken.

I love making movies and hope to write my own screenplay someday and do some producing and be behind-the-scenes as well.

I love making music. I never stop. I want to keep it moving forward. I like to go into the studio and make hits. It makes me feel good.