Best 233 quotes in «seduction quotes» category

O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm. That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. - The Sick Rose

Ô, the wine of a woman from heaven is sent, more perfect than all that a man can invent.

O woman, thou art my imperfection!

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

– Parce que tu crois que c’est mon ex-petit-ami ? Ou que j’ai envie de me le taper ? Est-ce que ça veut dire que maintenant que tu es un homme marié, tu vas arrêter de voir toutes tes anciennes maîtresses ? demanda Elianor avec une naïveté exagérée. Et avant même que Tristan n’ait le temps de répondre, elle repartit en fou rire. – Ah mais, suis-je bête ! enchaîna-t-elle en se frappant le front avec la paume de la main. Ce serait synonyme de ne plus adresser la parole à la totalité de la gent féminine, je me trompe ? – Est-ce une pointe de jalousie que je perçois dans ta voix ? se moqua-t-il. – Pas du tout, c’est de la fatalité.

Owen felt like he was bearing witness to the birth of someone new, like watching the rising of a phoenix or a snake shedding an ill-fitting skin. She hadn't taken her clothes off with the aim to seduce him, and that made the act even more enticing... Awareness, a new state of herself, that was what she was after, and in it she was glorious.

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.

Poetry can have varied and useful functions; and seduction is apparently something worth writing poetry for.

Plus tard, entre le rêve éveillé et la léthargie, elle sentit un courant d’air très frais derrière elle, avant qu’une douce chaleur irradie le long de son dos. Un bras fort se resserra autour de sa taille et elle se sentit lovée contre un torse ferme et agréablement chaud. Elle n’eut même pas à réfléchir pour reconnaître la silhouette de Tristan. Tout son être le reconnaissait.

Professor, when people say such things after impossibility smacks them in the face, we call it denial

Quand – comme toutes les autres femmes – elle rêvait d’une lente et douce séduction, de belles déclarations d’amour enflammées, voilà ce qu’elle récoltait à la place. Du sexe pour du sexe. Pas de sentiments.

Respecter une femme, c'est pouvoir envisager l'amitié avec elle ; ce qui n'exclut pas le jeu de la séduction, et même, dans certains cas, le désir et l'amour.

Saints and Sinners may be separated by their actions, but they are united by their reaction to passion.

Seduction is not like a veiling cloth but rather like water as it has the power to flow in the direction you want it to. Not where you put your direct focus, rather the point of focus must be somewhere else. Because all water go to the ocean, the ocean does not come to it.

Se débarrasser de tout ça ? Le faire ? Mais de quoi parlait-il ? — J’ai envie de toi, précisa-t-il devant son incompréhension. Je te désire comme un homme désire une femme. — Tu me… quoi ? répéta-t-elle, incapable d’articuler une phrase cohérente. — Je sais que toi aussi. Alors si tu veux coucher avec moi, je serai plus que ravi de te rendre service.

People will let you down in this business every single day. I think you'll be let down and disappointed more than you'll be accepted and excited. But you need to find ways to keep yourself inspired. This is mine. What's yours?

Seduction begins with insinuation, what may happen, not what is, what you may become to the person, not today what you are.

Seduction is an art known only to the best of the artistes.

Seduce yourself first.

Selon lui, tel était son plan : séduire, conquérir puis anéantir l’empire Kane.

Ses bras se nouèrent autour de sa taille et il huma la fragrance qu’elle portait au creux de son cou. Il frissonna de la tête aux pieds comme s’il était aux prises avec une tempête d’émotions qu’il avait du mal à canaliser. Elianor sentit l’empreinte d’un baiser sur son épaule. De ses lèvres entrouvertes, il remonta sur sa peau, la marquant au fer de la pointe brûlante de sa langue. Quand il mordilla son lobe, elle soupira longuement.

Sensuality is a moving target. You chase it daily by going deep within yourself.

She didn’t dare expose her heart the way she’d exposed her body.

Sex was a practiced art to him. Each move calculated. His brain always worked while he performed, his body seducing his prey with ease, noting each response of his target. But in one moment, everything had changed. She swept him into a tidal wave of pure sensation, and he willingly let go and let her take him with her.

Sexual thrills are not all physical, and although Parlabane was an unlikely seducer, even on the intellectual plane, it was clear that his desire was, by this prolonged tickling, to bring me to an orgasm of the mind.

She thinks, I'm telling him who I am. He's interested in who I am. That is true, but I am curious about who she is because I want to fuck her.

She leaned forward and whispered sensuously in his ear, 'I am Lilith and you are mine now - forever.

She was giving him a look. It took Eustace a second to figure out what it was. Her off-kilter gaze traveled the length of his body, then lingered pointedly. The gesture was supposed to be seductive but was more like livestock trying to sell itself.

Show me." He looks at her, his eyes darker than the air. "If you draw me a map I think I'll understand better." "Do you have paper?" She looks over the empty sweep of the car's interior. "I don't have anything to write with." He holds up his hands, side to side as if they were hinged. "That's okay. You can just use my hands." She smiles, a little confused. He leans forward and the streetlight gives him yellow-brown cat eyes. A car rolling down the street toward them fills the interior with light, then an aftermath of prickling black waves. "All right." She takes his hands, runs her finger along one edge. "Is this what you mean? Like, if the ocean was here on the side and these knuckles are mountains and here on the back it's Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, West L.A., West Hollywood, and X marks the spot." She traces her fingertips over the backs of his hands, her other hand pressing into the soft pads of his palm. "This is where we are- X." "Right now? In this car?" He leans back; his eyes are black marble, dark lamps. She holds his gaze a moment, hears a rush of pulse in her ears like ocean surf. Her breath goes high and tight and shallow; she hopes he can't see her clearly in the car- her translucent skin so vulnerable to the slightest emotion. He turns her hands over, palms up, and says, "Now you." He draws one finger down one side of her palm and says, "This is the Tigris River Valley. In this section there's the desert, and in this point it's plains. The Euphrates runs along there. This is Baghdad here. And here is Tahrir Square." He touches the center of her palm. "At the foot of the Jumhurriya Bridge. The center of everything. All the main streets run out from this spot. In this direction and that direction, there are wide busy sidewalks and apartments piled up on top of shops, men in business suits, women with strollers, street vendors selling kabobs, eggs, fruit drinks. There's the man with his cart who sold me rolls sprinkled with thyme and sesame every morning and then saluted me like a soldier. And there's this one street...." He holds her palm cradled in one hand and traces his finger up along the inside of her arm to the inner crease of her elbow, then up to her shoulder. Everywhere he touches her it feels like it must be glowing, as if he were drawing warm butter all over her skin. "It just goes and goes, all the way from Baghdad to Paris." He circles her shoulder. "And here"- he touches the inner crease of her elbow-"is the home of the Nile crocodile with the beautiful speaking voice. And here"- his fingers return to her shoulder, dip along their clavicle-"is the dangerous singing forest." "The dangerous singing forest?" she whispers. He frowns and looks thoughtful. "Or is that in Madagascar?" His hand slips behind her neck and he inches toward her on the seat. "There's a savanna. Chameleons like emeralds and limes and saffron and rubies. Red cinnamon trees filled with lemurs." "I've always wanted to see Madagascar," she murmurs: his breath is on her face. Their foreheads touch. His hand rises to her face and she can feel that he's trembling and she realizes that she's trembling too. "I'll take you," he whispers.

Simon laughed heartily. “I’m afraid the rest of us have to find talents to get our women into bed. Of course once they’re there, I have other talents that keep them right where they are.” “Handcuffs hardly count,” Christian said offhandedly. “If you mean the ladies cuffing me to the bed so they can explore Hunt Island,” he said, rubbing his chest, “…then point taken. These hands are capable of making any female climax by the mere brush of a pinky across her bare breast.” “I must have gone to the wrong island,” I said with a private laugh.

She stared stupidly into his eyes, thinking about how very much she’d like to make that noise again…with him.

Si le sexe était une arme de négociation, Tristan serait certainement un diplomate hors pair.

Slowly, but very deliberately, the brooding edifice of seduction, creaking and incongruous, came into being, a vast Heath Robinson mechanism, dually controlled by them and lumbering gloomily down vistas of triteness. With a sort of heavy-fisted dexterity the mutually adapted emotions of each of them became synchronised, until the unavoidable anti-climax was at hand. Later they dined at a restaurant quite near the flat.

So many hilarious scenes and seductions!

So I’m guessing,” he went on, pointing with his fork, “that you’re in a pretty good position to answer the question of where to draw the line between seduction and sexual harassment. Is it how you say things, or what you say?” She pondered with a quiet hum for a few seconds before explaining: “Some think it has to do with the artistry of delivery, but in fact you can have an eloquent harasser and a clumsy flirt. The difference is the message. Both begin with the same basic premise: ‘I desire you.’ Where they diverge is in what follows that premise. The harasser says: ‘I desire you, and I’m going to keep at you until you give in.’ But the seducer’s message puts the power into the hands of the person being desired, with the message being: ‘I desire you, and if the feeling is mutual, come and get it.’ The harasser demands, the seducer invites. That’s the difference.

So by slow degrees the Britons were seduced by pleasant pastimes... until finally the gullible natives came to call their slavery "culture".

So where were we?” “I was stepping back,” he says, “and you were chastising me for it.” I chuckle. “Ah yes. So, shall I take matters into my own hands, or do you have the proper tool for the job?” I kiss his palm and then glance down at the lump in his towel. “Well, miss.” His voice has a slight southern twang. “A skilled lawman knows how to choose the right tool for the job, and that—” He motions with his head, “—is not the one I plan to use right now. Sorry to disappoint.” “I hate it when you get cocky.

Sometimes the only way to hunt somebody is to pretend to be a prey.

So our chess game begins tonight, Duchess. At eleven o’clock. I will give you one hour to try to win, blindfolded or no.” His teeth showed very white when he smiled. “And then I shall win.” Jemma sniffed and turned up her nose. “Pride goeth before a fall, Duke.” “You will fall before me,” he said, his smile a blatant challenge. “Backwards.

Spirituality will take you like love; it seduces you from contemplation to completeness.

Tengo's lectures took on uncommon warmth, and the students found themselves swept up in his eloquence. He taught them how to practically and effectively solve mathematical problems while simultaneously presenting a spectacular display of the romance concealed in the questions it posed. Tengo saw admiration in the eyes of several of his female students, and he realized that he was seducing these seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds through mathematics. His eloquence was a kind of intellectual foreplay. Mathematical functions stroked their backs; theorems sent warm breath into their ears.

Stay the night, said the officer, patting a confiscated couch. I'll keep my hands off you. I promise. You have more than hands, said Elie. My feet are safe, too, said the officer. He pointed to a hole in his boots, and they laughed.

That was the lure of wealth, he'd discovered: a throaty whisper in your ear that you were special, that it was all - this wine, this woman, this world - for you. That it in some way existed only so that you might partake of it.

Suffer" he commanded seductively. "With me...or because of me.

That boorish man stole colour from a maiden's cheek to redden his ardour. She, with her prancing panther's gait and proud, undulating beauty, revelled in her existence and left him foolishly in her wake.

The amount of perfume she had on was like a human sacrifice on Incense Night.

The body, I started to learn, was not a secondary entity. The mind contained very few truths that the body withheld. There was little of import in an encounter between two bodies that would fail to be revealed rather quickly. The epistolary run up to the date only rarely revealed the truth of a man's good humor or introversion, his anxiety or social grace. Until the bodies were introduced, seduction was only provisional.

The brush of your lips will last my lifetime.

The grip of her eyes is so hard that he can barely breathe. She entices him to crash into her and explore her depths. But he is already soaked in different waters.

The feminine seduces because it is never where it thinks it is, or where it thinks itself.