Quotes About Sensuality

When my face is flushed with blood, it becomes red and obscene. It betrays at the same time, through morbid reflexes, a bloody erection and a demanding thirst for indecency and criminal debauchery.

Maybe you've had skin next to your skin, but when was the last time you let yourself be touched?

Story of O is a fairy tale for another world, a world where some part of me lived for a long time, a world that no longer exists except between the covers of a book.

I like my afterglow with you in motion. I measure time by how your body sways.

Let the flesh instruct the mind.

There's no way to cheat a sensualist like me, somebody who can die laughing for hours over the pattern of the carpet in a hotel lobby.

His blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself. And as it did, Lestats words made sense to me. I knew peace only when I killed and when I heard his heart in that terrible rhythm, I knew again what peace could be.

I kept glancing at him and away from him, as if his green eyes were hurting me. In modern parlance he was a laser beam. Deadly and delicate he seemed. His victims had always loved him. And I had always loved him, hadn't I, no matter what happened, and how strong could love grow if you had eternity to nourish it, and it took only these few moments in time to renew its momentum, its heat? -Lestat

I was still sitting there, too unsure of myself to say anything, when Nicolas kissed me. 'Let's go to bed,' he said softly.

He wanted to say this was not erotic. But it was erotic, insofar as anything and everything is.

Something had happened to his entire body that was very much like what happens to the erectile tissue of his organ when a man is sexually aroused. It increases marvellously in size, no matter what the man wants to happen. It goes from something flaccid and secret to becoming a kind of weapon.

And we are this, this only, this ecstasy that flesh can give to flesh.

I wrestled as well with my passion for life, my lust for pleasure, for music, and beauty, and comfort and sensuality, and the inexplicable joys of art—and the baffling majesty of loving another so much that all the world, it seemed, depended on that love.

Get thee behind me, tragedy. Kneeling over her, he lifted her and impaled her gently on his sex.

I bent down, close to him, and kissed the side of his throat. My friend, my deepest friend in the world once. And now we'll have this union. Lust old and new. The boy I'd been loving him. I felt the blood pulsing through the artery. My left arm slid beneath his right arm. Don't hurt him. He couldn't get away from me. He didn't even try.

Through a haze I saw the shape of him as he grew nearer to me. I felt his hands cup my face and turn it towards him. I saw the glimmer of his blue eyes, wintry flames, indistinct yet burning fiercely.

Lestat was holding me by the shoulders. I could barely stand. In fact, if he had let me go I would have fallen. I couldn't take my eyes off the pink-throated lillies.

I sat watching, listening, one hand shielding my lowered face from anyone and no one, my elbow resting on the rail, the passion in me subsiding, the taste of the girl on my lips. It was as though on the smell of the rain came her perfume still, and in the empty theater I could hear the throb of her beating heart.

Slowly I pressed my lips to his whitened silky skin and breathed in the old unmistakeable taste and scent of him, something sweet and undefinable and utterly personal, something made up of all his physical gifts and those given him afterwards, and I pressed my sharp eyeteeth through his skin to taste his blood.

I clamped his mouth in an ardent kiss. The blood passed into him, and violently, he convulsed.

It was as if that distant bed were a stage and on the linen pillows of the little stage lay that boy, his black hair parted in the middle and curling about his ears, so that he looked now in his dream, fevered state like one of those lithe androgynous creatures of a Botticelli painting; and beside him, nestled against him, her tiny white hand stark against his flesh lay Claudia, her face buried in his neck.

He turned as I entered the room, and I took him in my arms. With him, I could give vent to the affection I'd held so severely in check with Merrick. I held him to myself and kissed him as men might do with other men when they are alone. I kissed his dark black hair and kissed his eyes, and then I kissed his lips.

Move slowly as you drink. Let the music and the blood talk to you.

Ah, the nipples of men, so tender; such a key to torment and ecstacy; how he writhed as she twisted then ever so gently, her tongue daring in and out of his mouth.