Best 5910 quotes in «desire quotes» category

Seeking Intimacy with God and desiring Fellowship with Him, will make our calling in Christ sure.

Seize every opportunity to fulfill your calling.

Self-observation is simply the observation of an internal state and an external event. It is pure awareness, which gives one the ability to choose one's actions. Only by having the choice can one perform what is right.

Sex loses all its power and magic when it becomes explicit, mechanical, overdone, when it becomes a mechanistic obsession. It becomes a bore. You have taught us more than anyone I know how wrong it is not to mix it with emotion, hunger, desire, lust, whims, caprices, personal ties, deeper relationships that change its color, flavor, rhythms, intensities.

Sex, once a law as undisputed as gravity, has been disproved. The equation is erased, the blackboard broken

Sex: they say we only use 10% of our brains… I’m pretty sure this is what the other 90% is for.

Sexual expression is so powerful a way of bonding with others and so devastating a way of hurting others that it can never be reduced to a mere matter of personal preferences. Sexual desires have immense capacities to order or disorder the social world. Because of this, the social meanings and expressions of sexual desire, connections, and taboos are an organizing component of human societies: Who wants whom? Who belongs with whom? Who is forbidden to whom? What do infractions mean, and what are their consequences?

Shall I speak of the consequence One, that your attention causes? Words you utter keep me stunned, My heart stops up at your gazes. I am known to have just one gift; To feel things with intense passion Yet it happens to consume me; A divine fire, I cannot abandon. In sleepless nights I sing to you A song, however, incomplete. On bright days I write you letters; Ardent proses, yet bittersweet. I am indeed burned with desire; The consequence you must construe If this is the damage of attention Imagine, what your love will do.

She and I will become one someday soon. So much so, that none will know where I begin and she ends. This I know…

She abandoned herself to his whim, thinking it was to be an orgy of eyes and hands only.

She couldn't turn away from the eyes that held her. Eyes as deep, as Dark as the night, yet there was something that sparked with warmth, that kept those eyes from being cold.

She'd been in love with the man, and love is a scary thing. If not reciprocated, it can turn a person into a monster.

She douses the flames of desire in my eyes, and asks why I leave the soiree so thirsty.

She didn't know how to react to his non-sexualisation of her, and as she stared at his silent face, she recognized a familiar pain, a sense of not being there.

She eyed him up and down, and then bit her bottom lip hungrily.

She felt damned. As though she were marching to her death. She felt like had been sentenced. And yet she felt eerily free.

She found a dark satisfaction in pain—because that pain came from him.

She had a smile that could put a froth on a cup of coffee, and she knew it.

She had nothing to lose when she looked into those dark limpid pools of desire...Apart from her soul, and even that she would relinquish for one night undulating on his rigid fervour. But to what end? A moment of exquisite bliss? No, she demanded an encore; even her soul had a price...

She had grown now not to blame any man, honest miner or bloody bandit. She blamed only gold. She doubted its value. She could not see it a blessing. She absolutely knew its driving power to change the souls of men. Could she ever forget that vast ant-hill of toiling diggers and washers, blind and deaf and dumb to all save gold?

She hates everything that is not what she longs for.

She is all that I have ever desired in a woman. She is sensitive and tender. And she hides a vulnerability within her that only the people who are close to her can find. A charm that touches the unknown places in my heart. She is the ache in my heart.

She had to be cautious. As much as part of her hated her with every ounce of her flesh, she also loved her. She couldn’t quite reconcile the two, the love with the hate. Instead of feeling like a fluid stream with one on each end, her emotions drifting somewhere in the middle, where love and hate exist simultaneously, she flipped from one dramatic extreme to the other. Sometimes she loved her so much she wanted to devour her, and other times she hated her so much she thought she might kill her.

She is his word his love she brings the blood back to his lips.

She is wild love and eternal fire - A sensual blend of soft heart and burning desire. Yes, an acquired taste, but the truth is once you fall in love with her, you'll never recover. Her love will seep into your veins, you'll never be the same.

She led him to the top of the stairs, where light came straight from the sky because the second-story windows of that house had been placed in the pitched ceiling and not the walls. There were two rooms and she took him into one of them, hoping he wouldn’t mind the fact that she was not prepared; that though she could remember desire, she had forgotten how it worked; the clutch and helplessness that resided in the hands; how blindness was altered so that what leapt to the eye were places to lie down, and all else—doorknobs, straps, hooks, the sadness that crouched in corners, and the passing of time—was interference.

She looked up at him as he took a step toward the door; she looked at him without the slightest idea as to what was in his head, she saw him take another step in slow motion, turn and look at her again, and she wanted for a moment to hold him and devour him, wanted his mouth, his ears, his coat collar, wanted to surround him and engulf him.

She leans over the desk to write and even though I feel bad for doing it, I watch her body as she does. Her shirt lifts just a little as she’s bending over and whether she’s aware of it or not, her lower back is exposed. I’ve spent the last eight years ignoring this girl, but one small view of her back and it’s putting my body into overdrive. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone there so much in my life.

She let him kiss her, let all the sensations he brought with his kiss course through her freshly relaxed body. His mouth was warm, strong, and he tasted sweet and spicy, partly from the ginger-laced cupcakes they'd been baking and testing, and partly because she knew that's just how he tasted. Under his continued exploration, she relaxed further, opened her mouth to him, took him in... and sighed as he filled her so perfectly. She groaned softly, or maybe it was him, as he took the kiss deeper, and it slowly turned more ardent. She realized she'd dug her nails into his shirt, pressing her knuckles into him as she clutched the linen in her fists in her urgent need to get closer to him. "Wow," she gasped against the skin of his jaw as he left her mouth to kiss the corners of her lips, then her cheek, her temple, and dropped his head down to nuzzle at the tender side of her neck. It was the sweetest seduction and a primal rush, all at the same time. She rose up on her toes, wanting more heat, more contact, more... Baxter. "How can this not be the right thing, Leilani," he whispered gruffly against the sensitive skin below her ear.

She left quietly, closing the door behind her. Only then did Hunter move, wandering to the portal, his large hand clasping the oval brass knob that she had just touched, searching for any remaining warmth her skin might have imparted. He leaned his cheek against the cool, glossy panel and closed his eyes. He craved her body, her sweetness, her hands on his body, her legs open to him, her throat tightening with feminine cries as he pleasured her... He shoved the thoughts away, but it was too late, he was left with a painful erection that wouldn't subside. How long would it take for her to accept him? What the devil would she require? If only she would assign him some herculean task for him to accomplish and prove himself. 'Tell me what to do,' he thought, emitting a slight groan, 'and by God, I'll do it ten times over.

She nestled against him, already limp and relaxed. With a tremulous little sigh, she curled her fist against his chest. Aidan had to force himself to relax. He held himself very still, tempering the desire that churned and clamored in his chest, twisting and turning restlessly. He was still shocked by it, by its strength, its persistence, for it grew more rousing with every moment spent with her.

She nodded against me. “Do you need me to do anything?” I didn’t need a thing from her, but I wanted everything. I wanted her to leave Tyler, to love me, to want to live here with me for the rest of our lives. I wanted so damn much. ”Just go back to sleep, then enjoy the rest of the day with the girls. I’ll be back tonight.” ”I’ll be waiting her for you.” Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath in and held it. if only she knew what she did to me.

She recognized that this city was a place that granted you only what you were willing to claim

She smells like passion; like irresistible desire and temptation. She’s eclipsing in a daytime and shining at night. She smells like nakedness, even when she is warmly dressed. She has wild eyes. She smells like seduction; she is both an apple and a snake. She smells like great expectations; like success; like centuries-old glory. She’s like the last refuge. She smells like a final wish. She smells like a new beginning.

She stayed beside me until I slept, waveringly, brilliantly, hooded in diaphanous scarlet, and occasionally she left an imperative written in lipstick on my dusty windowpane. BE AMOROUS! she exhorted one night and, another night, BE MYSTERIOUS! Some nights later, she scribbled: WHEN YOU BEGIN TO THINK, YOU LOSE THE POINT.

She wanted to be the rain, to cover him with moisture, to bring life to his seed.

She tastes like chocolate. She tastes like an apple from that garden. She tastes like cocaine; like pure pleasure. She tastes like gold; like a piece of bread in the time of famine; like one last smoke. She tastes like hope; like dreams become reality; like reality becomes a fairy tale; like a fairy tale becomes the main purpose of life. She tastes like fears that become achievements; like dangers that make life more exciting. She tastes like love. She tastes like hate. She tastes like madness.

She wanted to get some personal profit out of things, and she rejected as useless all that did not contribute to the immediate desires of her heart, being of a temperament more sentimental than artistic, looking for emotions, not landscapes.

She was asked, “What do you see in him?” Taken aback, she replied, “What does he see in me?” Others too wondered why she chose him – not as handsome as the others, not one with a lot of possessions or even status, but little did they know, as little minds go, that she chose the one who wanted her most.

She was a truth that had filled his every moment.

She wasn’t sure if she even needed him anymore and the thought made her sad. In consolation, she offered him a kind smile and reached for his dependable hand.

Should the king in exile pretend he is happy there? Should he not seek his own country? His miseries are his ally; they urge him on. Let them grow, if need be. But do not forsake the secret of life; do not despise those kingly desires. We abandon the most important journey of our lives when we abandon desire. We leave our hearts by the side of the road and head off in the direction of fitting in, getting by, being productive, what have you. Whatever we might gain – money, position, the approval of others, or just absence of the discontent self – it’s not worth it.

Sickness occurs when we desire what we need and what’s desirable with equal intensity, suffering our lack of perfection as if we were suffering for lack of bread.

Silver and gold pale into insignificance if you flatter me with blue nights, romance me with pink lips and woo me with purple prose...

She waited for him with shallow breaths, head thrown back, eyes half closed, completely exposed in her trust of him, and it unravelled the last thread holding him together.

She wanted to hear more of Soledad geeking out, preferably while sticky and naked and trying to decide on pizza toppings.

. She was beautiful, and her temperament seemed much better than his first wife did. Arman stopped in the middle of the Windsor knot on his tie. Who was he trying to kid, he thought. An enraged rabid pit bull in heat would have had a better temperament then his first wife.

She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, and nothing he'd ever thought to find in a lady.

She was perfect, pure maddening sex, and she knew it, and she played on it, dripped it, and allowed you to suffer for it.

Should we not invariably act in this life as though the God whom our heart desires with its highest desire were watching our every action?