Quotes About Ecstasy

and his heart soared. He looked over the

Churches were either great cavernous tributes not so much to God as the wealth and privilege of the community, or they were austere, cold tributes to the ecstasy of refusal.

For lovers, touch is metamorphosis. All the parts of their bodies seem to change, and they seem to become something different and better. That part of their experience that is distinct and separate, the totality of the years before they met, is changed, is redirected toward this moment. They feel they have reached an identical point of intensity, an ecstasy of rightness that they command in every part, and any recollection that occurs to them takes on this final clarity

Jerry had indeed something in him that went beyond Rabelaisianism, in that he not only could get an ecstasy of curious satisfaction from the most drab, ordinary, homely, realistic aspects of what might be called the excremental under-tides of existence but he could slough off his loathing for humanity in this contemplation and grow gay, child-like, guileless.

What mortals call Sex is only a manifestation in human life, and in animal and vegetable life, of a certain spasm, a certain delicious shudder, a certain orgasm of a purely psychic nature, which belongs to the Personality of the First Cause.

The ineffable joy of forgiving and being forgiven forms an ecstasy that might well arouse the envy of the gods.

The heart, when it is too much alive, aches for that brown earth, and ecstasy has no fear of death.

Into each dance must be packed the panic and ecstasy of her last moment of life, for underneath was death.

When you dance, do you feel desire? Do you feel as if you were summoning up a greater energy? When you dance, are there moments when you cease to be yourself?

It was so fast. So fast. One minute she was reaching, reaching, almost touching the center of ecstasy itself. The next she was convulsing with something so hot with throbbing pleasure that it was almost pain. An inhuman cry tore out of her throat as she went up like a Chinese rocket and exploded into a million flaming pieces of pure joy.

What well being in a barefoot piss after a strenuous and proper screw.

Love makes a man mad. But the madness is so sweet

There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.

How sweet it is!

ja" sa prejavuje a zárove? obetuje, pretože je dávané, tiahnuté mimo seba v onej extáze, ktorou je tvorba, zomiera samé sebe, aby žilo v diele, vo ve?kej pokore, vydáva sa bez obrany!

Life is islands of ecstasy in an ocean of ennui, and after the age of thirty land is seldom seen.

I must find Ecstasy in this Insanity Freedom from their Slavery The Truth in their Lies Life in their Death Beauty in their Homicidal Genocide Peace in the War Whore's evil orgy of Death and Negation Love amongst the Ruins Pleasure in my own Pain.

Connie threw back her head, opened her mouth and cried to the heavens, as every sensation built and exploded inside her, fireworks and waterfalls, starburst and throbbing heat.

I have managed not to finish certain books. With barely a twinge of conscience, I hurl down what bores me or doesn't give what I crave: ecstasy, transcendence, a thrill of mysterious connection. For, more than anything else, readers are thrill-seekers, though I don't read thrillers, not the kind sold under that label, anyway. They don't thrill; only language thrills.

Martin Buber as described for basic virtues cultivated by the Hasidim to overcome the separation of the sacred and secular. . . . St. Benedict spoke of them as truly seeking God, zeal for a humble way of life, zeal for obedience, and zeal for the opus of God. Buber catalogues them as kavana (single-mindedness), shiflut (humility), avada (service), and hitlahavut (fire of ecstasy). 129

And that's when I'm supposed to open my eyes like a dewy fawn, and see him poised over me like the sun, and make a little gasping noise of wonder and gratitude, and then he fucks me.

There is a pleasure sure in being mad which none but madmen know -John Dryden

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness,—- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings.