Quotes About Sensuality

Hello? Three words: Benicio Del Toro, which, incidentally, is Spanish for 'he wants me.' It is just ridiculous how hot he is. I feel the same way about Benicio as I did when I was a kid lusting after David Cassidy.

In designing shoes for myself; I'm not thinking of a specific person or catwalk. I'm just not thinking of clothes at all. I'm always thinking of a naked woman, actually.

No nude, however abstract, should fail to arouse in the spectator some vestige of erotic feeling, even if it be only the faintest shadow - and if it does not do so it is bad art and false morals.

That's what the sari is about. Everything is covered, yet a peep of an ankle can be a turn on for men.

You can seduce a man without taking anything off, without even touching him.

You like orchids?... Nasty things. Their flesh is too much like the flesh of men, their perfume has the rotten sweetness of corruption.

I'm told leather drives men up the wall. I like wearing it because it because it feels nice.

Glamour is when a man knows a woman is a woman.

See, I'm looking for a man that'll rub me slow, make me sing real high when he goes down low.

I like a man who smells good. Puts on cologne; lotions his body. It keeps me wanting. I like feeling that way.

Art is the most frenzied orgy man is capable of.

Art is the most passionate orgy within man's grasp.

The sensual man conforms thoughts to things; the poet conforms things to his thoughts.

Sorry, baby. Let's get out of here," he says, speaking with the intense, strained tones of a man with an erection.

And once the lens was finally exposed, pure geometric equation made real, so powerful and vulnerable at once, Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and out labia and inner labia....It made him feel naked and weak and brave.

She took a step forward, leaving maybe a quarter of an inch of clearance between her belly and the tip of his boxer-tented doodle.

I can smell the sex on her. I hope she smells the love on me.

and he's sticking a you-know-what slowly into my you-know-where

She started rubbing my cock, and it felt pretty cool. LOL.

Over your breasts of motionless current, over your legs of firmness and water, over the permanence and the pride of your naked hair I want to be, my love, now that the tears are thrown into the raucous baskets where they accumulate, I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable of mangled silver, alone with a tip of your breast of snow.

The ritual was kissing her at various parts as if I were adorning her.

He closed his eyes as she put her hand on his shoulder, and in that instant, nothing else mattered. Not the song, not the place, not the other couples around him. Only this, only her. He gave himself over to the feel of her body as it pressed against him, and they moved slowly in small circles on the sawdust-strewn floor, lost in a world that felt as though it had been created for just the two of them.

Well, my type is obviously creative. Creative, with burning eyes and a pretty mouth.

Sexiness is in what you cover, not what you show. When you are covered, you leave a lot to people's imagination. People see the mystery in my eyes and find it sexy.