Quotes About Fascination

His eyes were on me and I didn't have the slightest intention of looking away. Nevertheless, I looked him up and down because I couldn't help it, and becuase he was as breathtaking as he has always described himself to be. and I had to see him, truly see him, even if he was to be the last thing I ever saw.

His skin was a pale golden that offset his violet blue eyes wonderfully, and his hair was a true mane of yellow, tousled and curling just above his shoulders. His colored glasses almost the same violet tint as his eyes, were pushed up into his hair, and h was staring at me, golden eyebrows scowled slightly, waiting perhaps for me to regain my senses; I honestly didn't know.

When he turned from his victim, I would see even blood teeming in him, and I would have given all the world to see him white again, my marble god, my graven Father in our private bed.

I looked up, and it seemed to me that he was a vision of male perfection, dressed in a snow white silk shirt and a finely cut black velvet jacket, his curly black hair very properly and beautifully combed back over his ears and curling above his collar in the most lively and fetching style. I loved looking at him, rather as I loved looking at Merrick.

I am not a man who loves women of any age, but the sight of her foot, its arch so delicately stretched by the height of the feet, and of her leg, so taut from the pressure, was quite enought to send the most unwelcome and erotic thoughts through my brain.

I was thinking how very attractive he was, I couldn't stop myself, with his yellow hair so thick and long, turning so gracefully at the collar of his coat, and his large probing violet eyes. There are very few creatures on earth who have true violet eyes. The slight difference between his eyes meant nothing. His sun-browned skin was flawless. What he saw in me with his questioning gaze, I couldn't know.

Her cool confidence chilled me. It chilled me that she had so fearlessly touched me, that nothing in my vampire nature repelled her, but then I could well remember how Lestat in all his subdued glory had attracted me. Was she attracted? Had the fatal fascination begun?

I never found another like him, with so much passion and so many happy delusions, but then I never much looked.

what is the experience of sex if you have never had it.

Hmmm, very good," he said. "All my companions are of the best blood." "You're telling me," said my Master. I couldn't rip my eyes off him, off his changing face. It seemed now his cheeks did darken, or maybe it was only their curve as he smiled. His lips were rosy. "And I'm not finished, Amadeo," he whispered. "I've only begun.

No hay nada en este mundo que no posea cierta fascinación.

Soy demasiado esclavo de mis propias obsesiones y de mi propia fascinación.

The house had me in thrall.

Why hadn't I realized that I was bringing into her presence one of the most alluring beings I've ever know?

I had to know who this painter was. I had to see his work. I had fallen in love with him. Was he young? Was he old? Was he alive? Was he dead? I had to know.

I see these mortals in a more attentive light. They are so fresh, so exotic and yet so luscious to me, these mortals; they look like tropical birds must have looked when I was a child; so full of fluttering, rebellious life, I want to clutch them to have it, to make their wings flap in my hands, to capture flight and own it and partake of it.

I had sparked something in him. I could see it in his black eyes. He was drawn to me, drawn to my world, but he couldn't admit it.

He drew closer as if I were a light and he wanted to be in it.

Yancey crawled from her tangled bed one morning and assembled her long limbs and sharp bones into something as exotic and seductive to the eye as a peacock or a griffin or a unicorn.

and I thought I might take him home and see how he works. It's really neat the way all those little bone things fit together, like a zipper.

And yet still she watched him... he wondered why. One possibility, and by far his favorite, was that she was planning his murder.

What was it about her that caught at his soul, when he no longer had one?

Alex Barrow's broad face, with the roughened skin that gave him an air of experience. His powerful, packed, wrestler's body. The thick black fur at the base of his throat. It was wrong to call him handsome, although all the women did. Really he was almost ugly, but in a stirring, thrilling way that made her shift in her seat as she thought about him.

Not only had she paid him attention, but she had secretly taken more pleasure in him than in any of the others.