Quotes About Ecstasy

He tongue swiped my sex like was licking the frosting off a cupcake. I called out to heaven again. . . . My sounds encouraged him to torture me.

My sounds encouraged his tongue to torture me. . . . Without embarrassment he sucked me like I was a man . . . . Glanced up at me as I looked down at him. . . . Then put all of his tongue deep inside me again. I lost it. People in planes, and on Century, Sepulveda, and Airport boulevards, heard my sexual pleas.

It's impossible to generalize about sexuality - even one's own. The only way to keep it pure is to keep it unspoken. Keep it out of words. Words are not where sexuality lives. Without privacy, there is no ecstasy.

There is no human hope without the promise of ecstasy.

Twenty-eight years, Kenny," Will panted. "Twenty-eight years thinking sex was for the lucky and the brave. Then I find out I can close my eyes, think of you, and become a frickin' god—now c'mon and make me a god!

Climax was a roaring, gentle thing from the pit of his stomach. Trav's body in his arms should have grounded him, but instead they flew, flew together, and Trav's groan against Mackey's shoulder, the hot spurt of his come in Mackey's ass, that was the crescendo, the soaring of the heavens against his face, the ocean roaring of the wind in his ears.

Clay made a noise previously unheard in human history and spread his legs wide to give Dane access to any part of him Dane wanted to fondle, grope, or suck—including his soul, should his soul reside among any points south, especially, especially, his cock.

It was like flying.

This time it was longer, more drawn out, pleasure being dragged down a gravel road.

On the other hand, touching Seth's body was like the holiest part of church that no priest ever talked about. Making him shiver and make his noises and gasp and moan and come?

Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

Electric flesh-arrows... traversing the body. A rainbow of color strikes the eyelids. A foam of music falls over the ears. It is the gong of the orgasm.

Wing'd with a Drunken Excellence.

Thus, while I quaff the genial wine, I live mid transports quite divine.

I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

The most dangerous part of lending books lies in the returning. At such times, friendships hang by a thread. I look for agony, ecstasy, for tears, transfiguration, trembling hands, a broken voice - but what the borrower usually says is, "I enjoyed it." I enjoyed it - as if that were what books were for.

Yet, every now and then, there would pass a young girl, slender, fair and desirable, arousing in young men a not ignoble desire to possess her, and stirring in old men regrets for ecstasy not seized and now forever past.

Ce qui j'ai connu de plus beau c'est le vertige.

Ce que j'ai connu de plus beau c'est le vertige.

Let every emotion be capable of becoming an intoxication to you. If what you eat fails to make you drunk, it is because you are not hungry enough.

The universe is in fact the constantly reborn "child" of the lovemaking of the "Father" and "Mother," Shiva and Shakti, who at all moments dance in and out of, and merge with, each other's being with divine complexity, subtlety, passion, and ecstatic humor.

Nature best teaches how to pray, and how to reverence all the gifts the Almighty has given us. She is like a vast outspread handkerchief, embroidered with God's eternal name, on which we may dry alike our tears of sorrow and of joy; she turns weeping into ecstasy, and fills our hearts with speechless, quiet reverence and resignation.

After I was done, I sighed and leaned back, feeling decadent and spent. Pure bliss. Books were a lot less messy than orgasms.

The feeling a writer gets when the last word is typed is almost as good as an orgasm.