Quotes About Sensuality

Standing off to the side, stage left, I backed up, parked myself on a crate, and squeezed my knees together. The louder the music got, the harder the crate vibrated. It was like having sex with Paul's spirit until his body could step in and finish the job.

You weren't to know how your touch with the teaspoon stirred me…

Most people like a little sex in their novels.

It can't just be about being sexy. It has to have all the emotions involved, I think, on the album and in the live show. Because if you do all sex, you lose all of the other beautiful things that should be a part of it... And just being sexy will get you nowhere.

I've been told that 'Midnight at the Oasis' has been responsible for the conception of more children than any other song of the '70s.

You may think of me as an object of desire and I'm going to tell you that I can be in front of you naked and not be erotic.

In the NUDE, all that is not beautiful is obscene.

I will always admit immediately to what's obvious, which is that Homo sapiens is inherently erotic or inherently sensual from birth.

I've always found music that is carnal very attractive but not in the most obvious way.

Nothing could be better than the moment when a woman opened her legs for you. That first time! If you had an eye for the little differences, you knew twice as much about her as you could learn from her face. Alois Senior would attest to that. The female organ! Whoever designed this form had certainly been sly about the job. (This was about as close as Alois ever came to admiring the Creator.)

Eroticism is] the poetry of the body, the testimony of the senses. Like a poem, it is not linear, it meanders and twists back on itself, shows us what we do not see with our eyes, but in the eyes of our spirit. Eroticism reveals to us another world, inside this world. The senses become servants of the imagination, and let us see the invisible and hear the inaudible.

Bodies are visible hieroglyphs. Every body is an erotic metaphor, and the meaning of all these metaphors is always the same: death.

El amor es intensidad y por esto es una distensión del tiempo: estira los minutos y los alarga como siglos.

Pero los amantes siempre encuentran un instante para escapar de las tenazas de la ideología. Ese instante es diminuto e inmenso, dura lo que dura un parpadeo y es largo como un siglo... Para los amantes del cuerpo piensa y el alma se toca, es palpable.

El fuego original y primordial, la sexualidad, levanta la llama roja del erotismo y ésta, a su vez, sostiene y alza otra llama, azul y trémula: la del amor.

When, after hours of lovemaking, we quickly dressed and left the apartment, I sometimes thought that Füsun was also taking care not to get "carried away" by her feelings for me. A proper understanding of my story depends, I think, on a full appreciation of the pleasure we took from these sweet shared moments. I am certain that the fire at the heart of my tale is the desire to relive those moments of love, and my attachment to those pleasures.

En sus sueños su pálida novia iba hacia él desde una verde bóveda de ramas. Sus pezones como de marga y sus costillas pintadas de blanco. Llevaba un vestido de gasa y sus cabellos oscuros estaban recogidos con peinetas de marfil, peinetas de concha. Su sonrisa, su mirada baja. Por la mañana volvía a nevar. Cuentas de hielo gris en ristra sobre los cables de electricidad.

From thinking about your sweet face between my legs.

What a man seeks is beauty, plain and simple. No other way to put it. The rustle of her clothes, her scent. The sweep of her hair across his naked stomach ( . . . ) That the man knows not how to even name that which enslaves him hardly lightens his burden.

She brings back these costumes and you have to wear them. Most recently we were dressed as rabbits. The odd thing is that she would really get into it. We'd have sex in these rabbit suits and she would squeal and stamp her feet.

What runs so contrary to received wisdom is that it really is the male who is the aesthete while the woman is drawn to abstractions. Wealth. Power. What a man seeks is beauty, plain and simple. No other way to put it. The rustle of her clothes, her scent. The sweep of her hair across his naked stomach. Categories all but meaningless to a woman. Lost in her calculations. That the man knows not how to even name that which enslaves him hardly lightens his burden.

If a man doesn't know how to dance he doesn't know how to make love, there I said it!

To be with him in this way was an almost intolerable ecstasy.

How ravished one could be without ever being touched. Ravished by dead words become obscene and dead ideas become obsessions.