Best 865 quotes in «lust quotes» category

How does it feel living life every day with such attractive faces in a place where women are forced to take responsibility even for the worst outcomes that spring from other people’s lusts?

How easily such a thing can become a mania, how the most normal and sensible of women once this passion to be thin is upon them, can lose completely their sense of balance and proportion and spend years dealing with this madness.

However, she’d been telling the truth about one thing—the attraction had become flash powder between them, waiting for the match to drop.

I am a woman who’s passionate about life. Perhaps too full of passion for the majority of the world to understand. I lust for adventure and stories; I feel everything. I’m a lover and a fighter. I fight for what I love and I love what I fight for. I yearn for what is more than life, and I live beyond that yearning.

Humans are born with a hodge-podge of various brain circuits, that possess the seeds of peace, fear, love, hate, rage, pain, love, stress and faith. All these elements compose the emotional domain of our mental life. All these characters are ingrained in our limbic system, that keep our head straight in the path of survival. We humans can survive, only if, all these elements of our brain circuits function properly. Failure of any one element would mean extinction of the whole species.

I am roses and thorns and pearls from the deep...

I am Kian.” “Mercy ” she replied. Swallowing hard she forced her gaze away from him. She was being too bold in her perusal but she could not stop looking at him. “Kindness ” he whispered. Their eyes locked and Mercy felt a jolt of some foreign but not unwelcome sensation pierce her. “I could use some of you” he said thoughtfully as his cool gaze devoured her. “Most definitely I could use you.” He rose and walked around the pond perusing her body as he came to stand beside her. “The milk of human kindness how sweet the taste.” He actually licked his lips and Mercy shivered her core heating and wetting. Then he lowered himself until they were eye to eye. “I believe I could drink you dry.

I am Angel. I am demon. I am woman. I am heaven and hell rolled into one. Kiss me passionately, let me taste your desire, feed my soul and your heaven becomes mine... Beget a maelstrom, feel the abyss shudder. hear the wails of anguish and my hell becomes yours...

I believe in witches, Sophia,” his deep voice hypnotized her. “I hope you don’t burn me at the stake,” she murmured to him. “I don’t burn witches. I set them on fire,” Alistair whispered so low Sophia thought she had heard wrong.

I could feel his whole body trying to claim me, want me, own me in lust, and it made me feel so valuable and wanted. As I was bent over the table, I felt like I was the world to him, and he could think of nothing else, could feel nothing else: he was consumed with my body, dedicated to exploring my female sexual power and energy, and his desperate hitting of me with the belt felt like he would rather die, than be without the chance to connect with me in sex.

I convinced myself that, as a principle, cheating was off-limits, but it scared the shit out of me that it could be where I was heading.

I convinced myself that, as a principle, cheating was off-limits, but it scared the shit out of me that it could be where I was heading. Why? Not because I was consciously thinking of finding someone new, but because I had absolutely no game.

I could taste the salt on her lips, each kiss like a summer wave breaking on an empty beach.

I could see it all. The hand on the shoulder, then the hug. The mouths that find each other through the tears, the moment when guilt and the certainty that things must go no further gives way to lust and the certainty that they cannot stop.

I could say it was the nights when I was lonely and you were the only one who'd talk. I could tell you that I like your sensitivity, when you know it's the way that you walk.

I dead each day when her call was busy elsewhere.

I couldn’t peel my eyes off her face or her body. Even if she had asked me not to follow her, I would have followed anyway. I was in a Norah state of mind.

I'd let him get under my skin, and now he had started to occupy my every thought.

I don’t believe he deserves the thousands of poems I’ve written about him, but life doesn’t follow rules. We do things for people who don’t necessarily deserve it. But we liked it, we loved it and fell in love enough to write about it.

i can still taste you on my lips– rapture at the tip of my tongue, plagued by dreams of you, i can only swallow– reminiscing as i burn.

I’d love to be tried out,’ I said, with a suggestive smile. ‘One should always explore something, before one goes in deeper.’ I saw a little flicker of fun in his eyes.

I’d never dreamed anybody could love me the way he did. And even when he proved it to me time and again – I still could hardly believe it was true.

I do not need to compete for attention, I merely require competent attention...

I don’t even pretend to understand it all. I was president of the Luther League, the youth group of our church. I was a good kid and a bad kid at the same time. I was looking for a very nice girl but also a very bad girl. Do all young men have these conflicts? And, what about whores? Well, in my mind, prostitutes are bad girls. Matter of fact, they are professional bad girls. As I said earlier in this diary, you don’t make love to whores, you fuck them. There’s a difference. They don’t require love and courtship, all they want is my money. I go to the bedroom with them and do the deed with no affection. They take my money and leave. All my life I have been told that girls who have sex outside of marriage are bad girls... sluts. I’ve also been told by my dad, “Son, sex is the most beautiful expression of love in a marriage.” Although I can appreciate the difference, that being, sex is meant for marriage only; my psyche has some difficulty reconciling the two messages. Sexually active girls are bad but sexually active wives are good. I’m afraid that someday if and when I wed the Pollyanna I’m looking for and fulfill my husbandly duty with her, I’m going to feel like I’m turning a good girl into a bad girl. In other words, I change my wife into a slut. And here’s the weirdest part: if my wife becomes a slut, the good boy in me will reject the bad girl I created in her. My angel and devil will be in a clinch hold.

I drag my eyes away from his sexy hands and my gaze collides with his. His penetrating blue gaze holds mine. He knows. He knows what I am thinking. He knows that I would rather have him fucking me senseless than sitting in the midst of everyone trying to make small talk, pretending that his mere presence hasn’t almost driven me to my wits’ end. Feeling overwhelmingly aroused, heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks. My pulse is racing. My heart is pounding so hard. Awareness crackles between us. His eyes hold mine with a frightening intensity like he can devour me with one touch.

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 live in a world where I get to love the moon than in one where I don’t, even if the moon won’t return the feeling.

I feel alive when you kiss me.

i dreamt i crawled on top of you and kissed your hips, one at a time, my lips a smolder. i straddled your waist and pressed both shaking hands against your torso. spongy, like an old tree on the forest floor. i push and your flesh sinks inwardly, collapsing with decay, a soft shushing sound. a yawning hole where your organs should be. maggots used to live here until your own poison killed them off. i laid my cheek into the loam and three little mushrooms brushed over my eyelid. peat, decomposing matter, all of it, whatever you wish to call it, rested in the cavity of your chest. and there i planted seeds in the hopes something good would come out of you.

I don't think I understand that," Meg insisted. "How can you lust yourself into oblivion. " "Oh, easily," Ekaterina answered. "The lust is for things, possessions. The weapon turns on the nature of possessions, the fact that every possession you own consumes a part of you. Tools, instruments, if they are more than conceits, these things do not defy the rule but they are exceptional enough they don't activate the weapon. Consequently, the mission of these alleged scientists is to create generalized lust, a frenzied lust for things unconnected to any sense of utility.

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.

I felt that thread that had come between us, tugging, tugging at my heart—so hard, it hurt me.

I feel like I look at her and get lost in her eyes.

If I can’t be your love, then let me be a simple brooch so I may rest a while against your chest. If I can’t be your love, then let me be a forgotten coin so I may rest a while against your thigh. If I can’t be your love, then let me be an unlit cigarette so I may rest a while in between your lips. If I can’t be your love, then let me at least remain in these words so I may rest a while in your thoughts.

If it’s not one god it’s another. Allah or oil. Jesus or Jewels. Lenin or lust.

{From Lindsey's address at the funeral of renowned scientist Luther Burbank. Burbank was one of the most beloved people in the early 20th century due to his countless contributions to humanity, but when, in an interview, he revealed that he was an atheist, the public quickly turned on him, sending him hundreds of death threats. Upset and grief stricken, the kind-hearted Burbank tried to respond to every letter amiably, a task that ultimately led to his death} . . . Luther Burbank had a philosophy that actually works for human betterment, that dares to challenge the superstition, hypocrisy, and sham, which so often have worked for cruelties, inquisitions, wars and massacres. Superstition that stood across the road of Progress, commanded, not by a god or gods, but the meanest devils that we know--Ignorance, Intolerance, Bigotry, Fanaticism, and Hate. The prejudiced beneficiaries of organized theology refused to see what Burbank, the gifted child of Nature, saw with a vision as crystal as theirs is dense and dark. And so they assailed him. One of the saddest spectacles of our times is the effort of hidebound theologians, still desperately trying to chain us to the past--in other forms that would still invoke the inquisitions, the fears, and the bigotries of the dark ages, and keep the world in chains. The chains of lies, hypocrisies, taboos, and the superstitions, fostered by the dying, but still the organized, relentless outworn theology of another age. They refuse to see that in their stupid lust for power they are endangering all that is good.

If love is a form of substance abuse, I hope to die high.

If someone calls you disgusting, they are lusting. It creates an energetic cord of control, which steals power, gifts, money, reputation, and free will choice from you. Drop the parasites.

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

If there is passion, let me feel its heat. I want my heart to beat fast, my breath raspy, my skin to burn.

If you are not his first thought in the morning, he does not deserve a place in your dreams...

If you are aware of the kind of hunger, regrets and frustrations that follows rumpy pumpy, you would stir clear from hanky panky.

If we don’t practice mindfulness, our cravings and sensual desires will overwhelm us.

If you must lose, then lose with style...

If your heart’s no’ engaged in your marriage, then ye shouldna be averse to a wee bit of lust outside of it,” he said, advancing around to her. She made him feel pleasurably male again. He decided to listen to his groin and not stifle the urge. Lust wasn’t the same as love. Surely it wouldn’t be a betrayal of Fiona if he used his body to wreak vengeance on his enemy. Especially not if he convinced Lachlan’s bride to succumb willingly. “Ye interrupted the ceremony before the vows were complete. I’m no’ even officially a wife, I dinna suppose,” she said, still circling the spring to keep her distance from him. Her nipples stood out beneath her bodice, whether from cold or the memory of his touch, he didn’t much care. They were a fine sight in any case. He ached to suckle them.

If you can only desire her by repeatedly risking all, then you neither love, desire nor value your woman, you merely desire control...

If you were to love, love not for the lust that you yearn but the rather the pain that you earn with it. Remember though that the ones who brave the pain are eternally bound in Cupid's chain. It is these chains that many of us fear. The fear of losing the freedom of choosing for self. The fear of placing the needs of our better halves before our own. The fear is understandable for history has taught us to despise and the society has given us the chance to entice. However, if you were to pause and think ever about - love - then do remember that the chain which upon acceptance binds you in amour is the same which upon rejection arrests us to an ague called lonesome depression. Few survive in love, but fewer without it.

If you were to love, love not for the lust that you yearn but the rather the pain that you earn with it.

I guessed that he would have a passionate bedfellow that night, but would never know to what prickings of conscience he owed her ardor.

I had a dream that I saw shooting stars with you. Two things that will come close to never happening: Seeing shooting stars, and being with you.