Quotes About Sensuality

I am made only for passion; it is the temperature of love that I cannot endure. I am afraid, and I think it is death- everything but passion seems like death to me. Only in fever do I feel life.

I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous.

There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.

Point was that Poe's mother died of consumption when he was 3. He sought the image of her in several other women, including the consumption, the lingering death etc. The dying women haunt his work, dominate it (perhaps as cruel women have haunted and dominated you). Dying women arrested the living flow of his sensuality. His sensuality became necrophilic. Et puis après?

She has to make the atmosphere boil.

He placed his mouth on her throat, kissing the words she could not utter. He seemed to divine where she wanted a kiss to fall next, what part of her body demanded to be warmed.

Sometimes she answered, 'My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.' Other times she answered, 'I am moist between the legs.

I have dreamed of that over and over—I dancing with you, or you alone dancing with head thrown back and eyes half shut.

Yes, Anaïs, I want to demask you. I am too gallant with you. I want to look at you long and ardently, pick up your dress, fondle you, examine you. Do you know I have scarcely looked at you? There is still too much sacredness clinging to you.

Yes, Anaïs, I was thinking how I could betray you, but I can't. I want you. I want to undress you, vulgarize you a bit—ah

Description of yourself walking through Paris and the tips of your breasts taut and tingling. Feeling, as I read your book, that for the first time I was going to know what are a woman's sensations in love . . . Asking myself over and over, does she look at men always with those steady eyes? . . .

Sabina placed The Firebird on the phonograph. The delicate footsteps of the Firebird were heard at first through infinite distance, each step rousing the phosphorescent sparks from the earth, each note a golden bugle to marshal delight. A jungle of dragon tails thrashing in erotic derisions, a brazier of flesh-smoking prayers, the multiple debris of the stained glass fountains of desire.

When Henry telephones, I feel his voice in my veins. I want him to talk into me. I want him to talk into me. I eat Henry, I breathe Henry, Henry is in the sun. My cape is his arm around my waist.

When Henry telephones, I feel his voice in my veins. I want him to talk into me. I eat Henry, I breathe Henry, Henry is the sun. My cape is his arm around my waist.

He deseado poseerla como si un hombre fuera, pero he querido también que me amara con los ojos, con las manos, con los sentidos que sólo poseen las mujeres. Es una penetración suave y sutil.

He overlooks the voluptuousness of half-knowledge, half-possession, of leaning over the edge dangerously, for no specific climax.

I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt

Sunt dou? moduri de a ajunge la mine, prin s?ruturi sau prin imagina?ie.

My desire wandered—I became all desire and warmth.

Wear that beautiful dress you had on when you first came to Clichy. I want to see the white of your flesh against it. I want to commit excesses.

It was a period of drunkenness, of blindness, of living only with the hands and mouth and body.

Altogether a noble form of self-deception, since the ultimate truth is that if a man is sensual, he will carry sensuality into his friendships too, into everything, including his enjoyment of music and painting etc.

Somehow in the whore the cold womb, constantly subjected to desire, produces a phenomenon. All the eroticism comes to the surface. The constant living with a penis inside of one does something fascinating to a woman. The womb seems to be exposed, to be present in every aspect of her.

No sabes lo que es la sensualidad. Hugo y yo sí. Está en nosotros, no en tus pervertidas prácticas; está en el sentimiento, la pasión, el amor.»