Quotes About Sensuality

It's like there's a film score playing behind him, heavy on the castanets.

And when they were finally naked they moved

The point of sex is... Sex doesn't have a point.

Barrett is a bigger guy, not fat (not yet) but ursine, crimson of eye and lip; ginger-furred, possessed (he likes to think) of an enchanted sensual slyness, the prince transformed into wolf or lion, all slumbering large-pawed docility, awaiting, with avid yellow eyes, love's first kiss.

Anyway the thing I remember most about that night was the way that we unbuttoned and unzipped each other's clothes, the way that we tore each other's clothes off, and how that was even more exciting than unwrapping presents.

It was a world ruled these days by the gun, the guitar, and the needle, sexier than sex, where the good right hand had become the male's primary sexual organ...

Oh, my beauty! Oh, my love. Soon your loins shall live--and throb to my pounding dork! Ah! Ah!

She loves most the wet colours of his neck when he bathes. And his chest with with its sweat which her fingers grip when he is over her, and the dark, tough arms in the darkness of his tent, or one time in her room when light from the valley's city, finally free of curfew, rose among them like twilight and lit the colour of his body.

Their bodies had met in perfumes, in sweat, frantic to get under that thin film with a tongue or a tooth, as if they each could grip character there and during love pull it right off the body of the other.

There were nights when Cullis would lie beside her, barely touching her with the tip of his finger. He would move down the bed, kissing her brown hip, her hair, to the cave within her. When they were apart he wrote how he loved the sound of her breath in those moments, the intake and release of it, paced and constant, as if preparing, as if knowing there was to be long distance ahead. His hands on her thighs, his face wet with the taste of her, her open palm on the back of his neck.

If a girl sings a sexy song, I actually become even more attracted to them.

I think we need to be sexy and kind of mysterious and still pretty and beautiful. I like to hear that when a man sings. I don't really want to hear about taking my clothes off.

Sometimes, when I'm alone, I put on six inch heels and wear nothing else and dance around in front of the mirror and do my little stripper dance.

I could not make a move without making love.

This time the fluttery feeling in my stomach was more intense. It made the inside of my thighs tingle and my breathing deepen.

Perhaps he was afraid as I was that we'd be caught. Or perhaps he was breathing me in just as I was letting him come into my lungs, my eyes, my heart.

Kissing with the tip of the tongue is like ice-cream melting. It was he who taught me that a kiss has a soul and colour of its own.

Not every song has to be about love and tenderness, sometimes you have those strictly physical feelings for somebody and it's okay to have those feelings.

Now that I had actually made love, more astonishingly now that I had been made love to, the fantasies were subtly undermined.

He fell in love with the way she closed her eyes, long before he fell in love with her.

Ahhh, I love to love you baby, ahhh.

I didn't understand that when you make love, you actually do MAKE love. Stir things. Affect each other. The breath that escapes from me is dazzled. He breathes it in with a gasp.

You may make love in dancing as well as sitting.

I love you, rotten, Delicious rottenness. ...wonderful are the hellish experiences, Orphic, delicate Dionysos of the Underworld.