Best 865 quotes in «lust quotes» category

The quest to sin always knocks at the door of the heart, but behold! You have the right and will to open your door or never to mind the knocks, no matter how intense it is!

There are numerous emotions such as love, hatred, fear, anxiety, guilt, grief, anger, surprise, happiness, boredom, lust, compassion and each has an important role to play in our lives. We need to feel and go through all the emotions in our lives. While we may not desire some of them as they can cause pain, their absence can’t complete our lives either.

There are still slave auctions in this day and age. I’ll bet you thought that was impossible, but it is still the world we live in.” -Shenita Etwaroo

There is a correlation between the number of days since a man last had sex, and, the number of things that he is willing to do for a woman.

There is a correlation between the number of days since a man last had sex, and, the number of women that he is convinced he is in love with.

There is a correlation between the number of days since a man last had sex, and, the number of women that he is convinced he is in love with, or, the number of things that he is willing to do for a woman.

There is an inimitable yearning in my soul that pines for your soul.

There is a very thin line of demarcation dividing true love from unadulterated lust. What is love without the pleasures of the flesh and what is lust sans a fluttering heart?

There is no need to impress people; for they don't care about your pride, they are busy in their business. But when you'll fall down, they'll talk about you! Better to live as you are and to enjoy what you have without lust .

There is no moment that exceeds in beauty that moment when one looks at a woman and finds that she is looking at you in the same way that you are looking at her. The moment in which she bestows that look that says, "Proceed with your evil plan, sumbitch." The initial smash on glance. The, the drawing near. This takes a long time, it seems like months, although only minutes pass, in fact. Languor is the word that describes this part of the process. Your persona floats toward her persona, over the Sea of Hesitation. Many weeks pass before they meet, but the weeks are days, or seconds. Still, everything is decided. You have slept together in the glance.

There's no way that you're real,” she murmured to his crotch.

The rest of them looked proper when they did it, but somehow Edward made even this gesture appear like in seconds he'd rip off her corset and do away with her skirt.

There's something here, my dear boy, that you don't understand yet. A man will fall in love with some beauty, with a woman's body, or even a part of a woman's body (a sensualist can understand that) and he'll abandon his own children for her, sell his father and mother, and his country, Russia, too. If he's honest, he'll steal; if he's humane, he'll murder; if he's faithful, he'll deceive.

The root of that craving is our habit energy.When we look deeply at it, we can begin to untie the knot.

There you are wrong … I know love not lust. When I love, it is done with my soul involved. As for loners, there are two worlds of loners. One, those who are alone and confused and get into evil; and two, those who are alone and productive. The latter group I belong to. I need to be away from the crowd, to think and find solutions to nagging problems around me. Being on my own enables me to think and see clearly the solutions to the many problems plaguing our world. I wish everyone could have some quality time to themselves and this world in no time would be a better place for all to live in.

There we were, filled with pure animal need, as he pinned me to the wooden table, and cruelly whipped my naked bottom; the two of us sweaty and panting, me screaming, him grunting, our primal sexual natures overprinting the tea room’s pretence at gentility, and refinement.

The smell of your lust like marmalade burning incense oranges and jasmine difficult to resist.

The secret tugs at my sleeve. A child looking for attention. It is not a big secret. But it is not the only one either. “Strength in numbers” they say. For they are many. Many little things that – together – weigh tonnes. And take up space. And are quite noisy. The way only a lot of whispers can make noise. And they follow me. Little secrets of omission, desire, and denial. Of indulgence, hedonism, and exploration. Of peeves, passion, and deep-seated fear. Little secrets of despair and disrepair and prohibited thoroughfare.

The serious student of the Bible cannot dismiss homosexual behavior simply as an alternate lifestyle. Nor can it be argued that homosexuals were “born this way” or that such behavior is an illness.

The smell of cigarette smoke in the air in a tavern that changes names often, a bar cursed because of a girl who died of a drug overdose in the basement, we put a few coins in the jukebox; chose “Angel Band” by Johnny Cash and sat down at the bar, ordered a soda, you wanted a whiskey on the rocks. We saw the coal miner who moved here from West Virginia knocking back liquor like I drink sweet tea. No one asked why he was so solemn today. It was warm. It was relatively quiet. To anyone else, this place could feel sinister. But to us, it was freedom. It was a hiding place. No one was ever here long enough to know us. And we liked it that way.

The rum transpired from the wound of a perfectly baked cake. By the piercing shining 'touch of crave' 'Crave for the touch'.

These five words you utter make the sun rise again: “I’m going to come home.” How is it possible for one person to be the sole reason for my existence? When I hear you say these golden words, the warmth spreads from my stomach until it reaches my pulsating fingertips. How is it possible for one person to be the sole reason for my ecstasy? These five words your utter are even more precious when I’m holding you tight and you whisper only four of them. Because then, I’m really home.

The tiny match we've been fooling with just set off an explosion.

The timbre of his voice went into that low register that made my insides curl in on themselves--it was like my uterus was tapping out a happy dance on the rest of my organs.

The supernova sun would be cooler than the fire lighting our desire.

The Temperature is Rising The heartbeat quickens my breath is controlled,my senses are illuminated like a mother to her young. This feeling I have I've know it before, when the gates are opened I'll remember the beginning. Awaiting, dreaming imagining the endless possibilities of moments together as I give into my desires. My body reacts it has a mind of its own leaving little clues yet I continue on. Poised and professional I cross my origin the passion that awaits it stirs like a simmer. The sweet aroma a treat being made just for him I know he will like, the hunger in his eyes his mouth soft and strong it only took me a moment as he continued to look on. I didn't even recognize my sound as I was in a sphere all alone I hoped and imagined it would be but my mind was left in awe like sweet chocolate after a meal.

The thought went through my mind that we should film ourselves in our sexual act, and project our frenzied copulation permanently onto the walls of the tea-room, as a lesson to wake up the boring people who drank tea here, and to show them what life was really all about.

The touched heart madly stirs, your laughter is water hurrying over pebbles - every gesture is a proclamation, every sound is speech...

The very same woman to whom some men would kill to make love, some man is—or some men are—bored to death of fucking.

The truth is the object of our lust But the light is still so very dim…

The wet, fleshy lips of his slightly open mouth were the origins of another unexpected reaction of mine to which I also gave in. I suddenly felt the emotional desire of kissing that mouth.... [T]hat sense of disgust that was invariably joined to the mere idea of kissing another male was not present now in the thoughts I kept turning in my mind about kissing him, and tasting the flavor of his sensuous lips. I also felt like nibbling the curve of his bony jaw and going down over his thick, muscular neck, to leave a trace of me in every pore of his terse skin, in a trail of lust and pleasure.

The way he looked me up and down made a part of me burn with desire. Fire and electricity. Flames and sparks. Needing and wanting. Tempting temptation.

The writer of this legend then records Its ghostly application in these words: The image is the Adversary old, Whose beckoning finger points to realms of gold; Our lusts and passions are the downward stair That leads the soul from a diviner air; The archer, Death; the flaming jewel, Life; Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the knife; The knights and ladies all whose flesh and bone By avarice have been hardened into stone; The clerk, the scholar whom the love of pelf Tempts from his books and from his nobler self. The scholar and the world! The endless strife, The discord in the harmonies of life! The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books; The market-place, the eager love of gain, Whose aim is vanity, and whose end is pain!

The word lust [can] mean “selfish desire.” . . .It is wanting something so badly you will do anything to get it. That is one of the tricks of the devil. It is too high a price to pay.

They burn books now, mama.The monsters burn fucking books now, mama. They have eyes full of disappointing madness. Their tongues taste like fulvous indoctrination. They teach us. Teach us sadism, hatred, lust to kill, conformity. What do you see when you look at me? Daddy?

The word of lust touches the body, the word of love touches the soul: feed the soul and starve the body.

They say love is all about raging hormones. For me, it's mind's way of breaking through its self-imposed limitations in order to set the eternally ecstatic soul free.

They have never put it into words, they cannot; but each absence is a threat. They never felt this way in New York - they moved all over New York. Here each is afraid that one of the others will get into some terrible trouble before he is seen again, and before anyone can help him. It is the spirit of the people, the eyes which endlessly watch them, eyes which never meet their eyes. Something like lust, something like hatred, seems to hover in the air along the country roads, shifting like mist or steam, but always there, gripping the city streets like fog, making every corner a dangerous corner. They spend more of themselves, each day, than they can possibly afford, they are living beyond their means; they drop into bed each evening, exhausted, into an exhausting sleep. And no one can help them. The people who live here know how to do it - so it seems, anyway - but they cannot teach the secret. The secret can be learned only by watching, by emulating the models, by dangerous trial and possibly mortal error.

The yearn of the faithful The call of the wild Two conflicting worlds collide Steadfast in a world spiraling out of control. One foot to the earth One head in the clouds

They intend to make people's very appetites the next weapon of uncountable destruction. They intend that your people will lust themselves into oblivion in front of little boxes of changing light. Addictive light. A light that makes you feel like you live a life, when all you really do is eat what the light tells you to eat and squirt pee and pump poo. And watch the changing light!

They say I should stay away from you,” I said. “They said you’re not good for me.” “I’m not,” he said with a wicked smile, “But doesn’t that make it even more fun?

They still had sexual relations with another, slept in the same bed, shared kisses and intimacy and matrimonial fluid, however both were not married to each other in that sense, although there was a piece of paper that said otherwise.

Thinking about it too hard makes her angry: ardent Taylor, who wants more passionately than anyone Kath has ever met, deserves more than these insulting parodies of lust. But what does Taylor want?

Thinking about the bed leaves you horny, but thinking beyond the bed gives you honor, freedom and wisdom.

This is not lust I feel, dear Sara. And I hope you are half as frightened of it as I am.

This, it would turn out, is the main thing we had in common: a susceptibility to the brassy escapism of myth.

This is the gateway to Hell, baby… Welcome to The Underworld.

Though it’s reasons to burn may vary... you are always the fuel of my fire.

This was the time when the rush for the spoils filled a corner of the forest with the yelping of hounds, the cracking of whips, the flaring of torches. The appetites let loose were satisfied at last, shamelessly, amid the sound of crumbling neighbourhoods and fortunes made in six months. The city had become an orgy of gold and women.

This pursuit of unavailable distant people has oedipal roots. … fearing the consequences, they make certain that they fail at the attempt.” ―Distancing, Kantor (p.115)