Quotes About Ecstasy

Comme un flot grossi par la fonte Des glaciers grondants, Quand l'eau de ta bouche remonte Au bord de tes dents, Je crois boire un vin de Bohême, Amer et vainqueur, Un ciel liquide qui parsème D'étoiles mon coeur

Her Hair O tumble to the collarbone, O fleece, O locks, O fragrance full of "I don't care," what ecstasy! To stuff a gloomy place with all I know is rife within this mass, I'll shake it like a kerchief in the air.

Now is the time to get drunk! To stop being the martyred slaves of time, to get absolutely drunk - on wine, poetry, or on virtue, as you please.

You must be drunk always. That is everything: the only question. Not to feel the horrible burden of Time that crushes your shoulders and bends you earthward, you must be drunk without respite. But drunk on what? On wine, on poetry, on virtue — take your pick. But be drunk.

Il est l'heure de s'enivrer! Pour n'être pas les esclaves martyrisé du Temps, Enivrez-vous! Enivrez sans cesse! De vin, poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise

É a hora de vos embriagardes! Para não serdes escravos martirizados do tempo, embriagai-vos! Embriagai-vos sem cessar! Com vinho, poesia, virtude! Como quiserdes!

It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.

one more creature dizzy with love

I got my hands under the breasts, lifted them. Tons of meat. Meat without mouth or eye. MEAT MEAT MEAT. i slammed it into my mouth and flew into heaven.

Never had I felt so good. It was better than masturbating.

The Cult of Reason sprang up all over France in 1793 and was even worshipped in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. After the Bishop of Paris resigned, proclaiming his previous error of supporting Christianity, the Goddess of Reason, impersonated by an actress of wealthy means, took his place at the altar. She sat under a baldachino holding the new symbols of power, while all around her danced Jacobins in various states of religious, revolutionary and reasoned ecstasy.

Unless you're playing Who's Hiding the Ecstasy?, I don't think I'm gonna be able to make it. I've got plans. Don't married people know that the last thing a single person wants to do on a Friday night is play a nutty game of Yahtzee? I'd rather take a bubble bath with my father.

She was a voice that god seeks. She was the reed of demonic ecstasy. She was possessed. She knew not how but she knew the moment of her possession. The singing tongues of all the world were wakened into life again under the incantation of her voice. She was inhabited. She was spent.

Bess who has been fingering a fruit-lid jar lid — absently, heedlessly dropped it — aimlessly groping across the table, reclaims it again. Lightning in her brain. She releases, grabs, releases, grabs. I can do. Bang! I did that. I can do. I! ... Centuries of human drive work in her; human ecstasy of achievement. satisfaction deep and fundamental as sex: I can do, I use my powers; I! I!

Amnesia is not knowing who one is and wanting desperately to find out. Euphoria is not knowing who one is and not caring. Ecstasy is knowing exactly who one is - and still not caring.

Get yourself in that intense state of being next to madness. Keep yourself in, not necessarily a frenzied state, but in a state of great intensity. The kind of state you would be in before going to bed with your partner. That heightened state when you're in a carnal embrace: time stops and nothing else matters. You should always write with an erection. Even if you're a woman.

There are three mental states that interest me. These are: one, amnesia; two, euphoria; three, ecstasy. Amnesia is not knowing who one is and wanting desperately to find out. Euphoria is not knowing who one is and not caring. Ecstasy is knowing exactly who one is - and still not caring.

to perform without a net is ecstasy. Papa Phom had often reminded her, To perform without focus is fatal.

She thought these thoughts to herself as in her mind's eye she ran naked through the woods, hugging trees.

The rodent of ecstasy sings by my bedside.

Success in life is to maintain this ecstasy, to burn always with this hard gemlike flame.

I stroked every inch of his golden skin. Sucked his earlobes. I know the quality of the hair in his armpit. I fingered the dimples in his upper lip. I poured red wine in his navel and drank its spill. There's no place on my body his lips did not turn into bolts of lightning. Oh God..I have to stop reliving our lovemaking. I have to forget how new it felt every single time. Both fresh and somehow eternal. I'm tone deaf, but fucking him made me sing.

And the strongest emotion was that life was as precious as it was puzzling. It was an ecstasy because it was an adventure; it was an adventure because it was an opportunity.

Maslow might be speaking of clients I have known when he says, "self-actualized people have a wonderful capacity to appreciate again and again, freshly and naively, the basic goods of life with awe, pleasure, wonder, and even ecstasy, however stale these experiences may be for other people." (4, p. 214)