Best 362 quotes in «erotic quotes» category

The erotic has often been misnamed by men and used against women. It has been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, the plasticized sensation.

The erotic element always present in fashion, the kiss of loving labor on the body, is now overtly expressed by language. Belts hug or clasp; necklines plunge; jerseys bind. The word exciting tingles everywhere.

The erotic is a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings.

The female form is much more erotic than the male, who doesn't think that?

The erotic is a resource within each of us that lies in a deeply female and spiritual plane, firmly rooted in the power of our unexpressed or unrecognized feeling. . . .

The kind of love that God has for us, I think, is of an infinite longing for union, and the kind of love that God wants us to have for him, I think, is of this also endless longing. Now in eros we lose ourselves. I think erotic love transforms us, but it does so only momentarily. It has to be embedded in something much longer, a much bigger narrative called marriage or durable relationship or something like that.

The only foreplay I really need is for a guy to kiss my hip bone. The hip is the most erotic and neglected body part. Kiss the hip bone with your lips.

The nose is surely one of the most impressionable, if not positively erotic, of all our unruly members.

The only people who are obsessed with food are anorexics and the morbidly obese. That, in erotic terms, is the Catholic church, in a nutshell.

The paintings that really excite me have an erotic element or side to them irrespective of subject matter

There's always been a potential erotic possibility with objects.

There were nude pictures... a lot of it is erotic or sexual. But I don't view my collection as dirty in any way. I view it as art.

There's something vaguely erotic about watching a woman eat a banana while cupping two plums.

The origins of clothing are not practical. They are mystical and erotic. The primitive man in the wolf-pelt was not keeping dry; he was saying: Look what I killed. Aren't I the best?

The sexual is part of everything, and it's highly formalized. I hadn't done figure for a long time. And I thought to myself, "Why not the erotic figure?

The thin girl was gulping down one of Richard's bananas in what was, Richard reflected, the least erotic display of banana-eating he had ever seen.

The social problem is that we haven't come up with any alternative models. Our culture hasn't developed an ars erotica. Think, for example, of conditions in India or in Japanese culture and of how the erotic has been cultivated there. They're not as clinical and rabbit-like as we are.

The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.

The throat: how strange, that there is not more erotic emphasis upon it. For here, through this compound pulsing pillar, our life makes its leap into spirit, and in the other direction gulps down what it needs of the material world.

The women I liked when I was growing up, as a little boy, were Anita Ekberg, Sophia Loren, Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor, because they had these curvaceous figures, and they were erotic to me.

To say that historical conditions made personal life possible, and with it the self-consciousness that allowed psychoanalysis to emerge, is to tell half the story: one also has to consider that the erotic impulse, ever pressing for satisfaction, had something to do with making the history that encouraged its expression.

The stiletto is the icon of erotic femininity. You're taller, thinner and curvier, all at the same time. What's not to like?

We witness a strange inversion: on the one hand, the endeavor to turn the social contract into a less calculating and more feeling connection among its members; on the other hand, the endeavor to turn the erotic relationship into a contractual one.

When I get too much rest, I'm usually erotic.

When I speak of the erotic, then I speak of it as an assertion of the life force of women; of that creative energy empowered, the knowledge and use of which we are now reclaiming in our language, our history, our dancing, our loving, our work, our lives.

When I was editor of the Erotic Review I fielded endless phone calls from elderly readers who thought I might like to pop round in my spare time and thrash them

Too often, older women are seen as victims, but I know lots of formidable women who have marvellous jobs as well as a full erotic life, and children and friends and family.

When the theater is gothic it matches the sensibility of the show. It's also very intimate. The audience is very close to the performers. The show is scary and the scary stuff always works best with an intimacy with the audience. And the show is erotic, and I think erotic always works best when it's close to the audience, as well.

Whosoever says truffle, utters a grand word, which awakens erotic and gastronomic ideas.

When I worked on an erotic shoot... I shot digitally. It helped the models get into it because they could come over and see what was happening. It was the closest to being sexual, because it was a participatory experience.

When a lady's erotic life is vexed God knows what God is coming next.

Women's underwear section it's like Narnia's wardrobe for my erotic delights.

Why can't we all just acknowledge that 'nature' - that is, 'sex' or 'erotic' images, which are really just 'attracters' are everywhere. Of course a flower looks like what it looks like - that's what it is - to a bee.

When I work I feel more alive than under any other circumstances. There's not an 'I love you' in the world that can match it. I feel safe, excited, at peace, erotic, centered. Nothing can touch me.

You may think of me as an object of desire and I'm going to tell you that I can be in front of you naked and not be erotic.

Yes, my dolls were the beginning. Obviously there was a convulsive flavor to them because they reflected my anxiety and unhappiness. To an extent they represented an attempt to reject the horrors of adult life as it was in favor of a return to the wonder of childhood, but the eroticism was all-important, they became an erotic liberation for me.

Wonder is our erotic affiliation with all of life. If we develop this, enjoy it, and follow its promptings, our wants will be fewer and our needs plainer.

A Dom intent on developing a relationship will approach you on a personal level first.

Ach, wie ich sie umfing, wie ich in ihre Arme stürzte, mit welch verzweiflungsvoller Inbrunst ich in ihrem Fleisch wühlte, als könnte ich in ihrem Leibe das Geheimnis ihrer Seele schlürfen.

After a few seconds of scraping, I realize what he has isn’t a trail, it’s a whole forest! Ack! Weren’t all men supposed to shave their chest and stuff nowadays? Whatever happened to having fuzz-free Hollywood heroes as role models? At least my embarrassment is completely foregone by the irritation at his lack of upkeep. The only thing distracting me now is that heady mix of musk, shaving cream and a distinctly…male scent. And God knows that is one seriously jeopardizing distraction. Especially with a whizzing needle in one’s hand.

A kiss is such an amazing thing -- So simple, so complex. The only human act that gives while it receives. Mouth to mouth, it almost seems the eating of one another. Maybe that’s all we are, food for each other. Why, I believe there’s a poem in there somewhere. Another kiss to inspire my muse, Desirée, and I’ll tell you something else you don’t know.

A little playful banter never hurt — or did it? - Emma

Amazing sex stays with you. It soaks into your skin. It floats through your dreams and has you silently smoldering with delicious remembrances for hours after. It has you craving it days later. And it has you aching for it if you don’t get it for awhile.

Anger is like sex urge, once gratified, the inner voice calls you a stinking fool.

Although he assumed she’d naturally submit to him, he obviously believed she was still her own person. A strong person.

As for woman, she touches herself in and of herself without any need for mediation, and before there is any way to distinguish activity from passivity. Woman touches herself all the time, and moreover no one can forbid her to do so... ~from Red Queen Black Queen

You know the mind is an astonishing, long-living, erotic thing.

Another important way in which the erotic connection functions is the open and fearless underlining of my capacity for joy, in the way my body stretches to music and opens into response, harkening to its deepest rhythms so every level upon which I sense also opens to the erotically satisfying experience whether it is dancing, building a bookcase, writing a poem, or examining an idea. That self-connection shared is a measure of the joy which I know myself to be capable of feeling, a reminder of my capacity for feeling. And that deep and irreplaceable knowledge of my capacity for joy comes to demand from all of my life that it be lived within the knowledge that such satisfaction is possible, and does not have to be called marriage, nor god, nor an afterlife. This is one reason why the erotic is so feared, and so often relegated to the bedroom alone, when it is recognized at all. For once we begin to feel deeply all the aspects of our lives, we begin to demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves to be capable of. Our erotic knowledge empowers us, becomes a lens through which we scrutinize all aspects of our existence, forcing us to evaluate those aspects honestly in terms of their relative meaning within our lives. And this is a grave responsibility, projected from within each of us, not to settle for the convenient, the shoddy, the conventionally expected, nor the merely safe.

.. any Dom who doesn't promote open communication is not developing a healthy relationship.

Anyway, I'm in bed with her, with her bracelets. Her face is a blank, so I darken the lights. Off go her silky undergarments. The bracelets are all she has on. They glint slightly, a pleasant muffled clinking on the sheets. I have a hard-on. Which, halfway down the ladder, is what I noticed. Just great. Why now? Why didn't I get an erection when I needed one? And why was I getting so excited over two lousy bracelets? Especially under this slicker, with the world about to end.