Quotes About Sensuality

Sensuality reconciles us with the human race. The misanthropy of the old is due in large part to the fading of the magic glow of desire.

By my makeup and temperament I wasn't really prey to physical desires. Everything happened in my head.

She who licks her lips knows the taste of her lover's desires

She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.

This great handsomeness I took into myself later when he desired me, but I took it as one breathes air, or swallows a snowflake, or yields to the sun.

In the street, the gaze of desire is furtive or menacing.

He [the cat] wound himself around her legs, purring the purr of ardent desire like a kettle coming to a boil and then bubbling very fast.

If you introduce the human figure you at once arouse either disgust or desire.

What is Divine duty compared to the kiss of a women...what is Destiny compared to the soft touch of a lady....what is the will of a God compared to the eyes and voice of the one you love.

He had the face of an angel, but he f**ked like a devil.

I want to feel intoxicated from inhaling the scent of you.

I've always felt that desire. To get a woman to throw back her head in laughter is a hot thing.

Anytime I am around a male body part it is kind of exiting.

He groaned her name as he bent, his mouth so tender, so exquisitely gentle with hers that tears ran hotly down her cheeks. He was the world, and everything in it. She loved him so.

In Bed with the Wrangler

I leaned against the carved banisters and listened to the music and felt quite different from any way I have ever felt before -- softer, very beautiful and as if a great many men were in love with me and I might very easily be in love with them.

I want to bottle-fuck you slowly with my sunglasses on.

Sex finds us. Sex sees through us. That's why it's so shattering. It strips us of appearances.

Remember literature, Charlie? It involved getting drunk and getting laid.

Days like this. I look at you and feel electric. Tell me you don't feel it too.

Say heat. Say wet between my legs. Say legs. Seriously, I want you to. Stockings. Whisper it. The word is meant to be whispered.

Once, probably, I used to think that vagueness was a loftier kind of poetry, truer to the depths of consciousness, and maybe when I started to read mathematics and science back in the mid-70s I found an unexpected lyricism in the necessarily precise language that scientists tend to use My instinct, my superstition is that the closer I see a thing and the more accurately I describe it, the better my chances of arriving at a certain sensuality of expression.

Then she took of her panties and handed them to me. I tossed them on the bed and got undressed. I felt a breath of estrangement in the room and thought she might be a voyeur of her own experience, living at an angle to the moment and recording in some state of future-mind. But then she pulled me down, snatched a fistful of hair and pulled me into a kiss, and there was a heat in her, a hungry pulse that resembled a gust of being.

Once I almost asked her to put on legwarmers before we made love. But it seemed a request more deeply rooted in pathos than in aberrant sexuality and I thought it might make her suspect that something was wrong.