Quotes About Lust

The more he gives me, the more I want.

desire was the only truth worth following.

No, no, don't let my vulnerable heart share in this sacrifice to lust! Let him disgust me before pleasing me! Let him be what others have been, an instrument that I can break before becoming the echoes of its vibration.

When Victoria told me how intensely she hated me, I kept the Beretta aimed at her face, but heard myself say, I don't hate you. She called me an effing liar and said, Hate makes the world go around. Envy, lust and hate. I stopped hating anyone the day when I realized hating can't restore to me anything that's lost.

Keep in mind the roots of violence: Lust, envy, anger, avarice, and vengeance...the taproot...the killer's ultimate and truest motivation...is the hatred of truth...the hatred of truth is a vice. From it comes pride and an enthusiasm for disorder.

I used to believe our subconscious recognition of our true helplessness in the face of cosmic forces was what explained the insane lust for power that makes so many into murderers, rapists, thieves, and raving-mad ideologues. For their kind, such mean control allows the illusion of greatness, inspires even the foolish hope of immortality on Earth.

mind, human and inhuman, in a rapture of blood lust and violence, will be an existence more horrific

His senses are sodden with lust, so he cannot think, and this sensory overload, this incogitant drowning in sensation

The best sex takes us somewhere. Somewhere warm and expansive, a paradise of lust and happiness. Sex is and can be and should be but only very rarely is an act of communion with something bigger than ourselves. Men fuck and women make love, people say, but we men make love when we fuck a woman we adore: it's the same thing to us. We mean it sincerely. I had places inside me only Cathy could fill with her body, and I made her happy with my body more than I ever thought I could.

Bedding her could be anything from tenderness to riot, but to take her when she was a bit the worse for drink was always a particular delight. Intoxicated, she took less care for him than usual; abandoned and oblivious to all but her own pleasure, she would rake him, bite him - and beg him to serve her so, as well. He loved the feeling of power in it, the tantalizing choice between joining her at once in animal lust, or of holding himself-for a time- in check, so as to drive her at his whim.

Oh, Lord! This must be what it's like to make love in Hell, he whispered. With a burning she-devil.

Jamie, I panted. He pushed his kilt out of the way and pressed my hand against him. Bloody Christ, I said, impressed despite myself. My sense of propriety slipped another notch. Fighting gives ye a terrible cockstand, after. Ye want me, do ye no?

I want to take ye to bed. In my bed. And I mean to spend the rest of the day thinking what to do wit ye once I got ye there. So wee Archie can just go and play at marbles with his bollucks, aye?

So far as Grey's own opinion counted, a love that sacrificed honor was less honest than simple lust, and degraded those who professed to glory in it.

desire is so much sweeter when you cant have it.

Perhaps as good a classification as any of the main types is that of the three lusts distinguished by traditional Christianity - the lust of knowledge, the lust of sensation, and the lust of power.

Just give her your goddamn window seat, for the love of Christ, she's a stone cold fox, whispered the little red devil that always wants to get laid from his perch just behind my left ear.

I don't want a "holy" life of prayer and contemplation. I want a life of strife, lust, striving, seeking, struggling, and debauchery.

There was something humiliating, too, in a display of grief when the relationship had been unwitnessed. No, this was to be a private suffering, like lust or literature, lived out mostly in his dreams.

She was hot, he was a man; not being attracted would have been impossible. That gleaming dark hair tempted a man to find out what it would look like released from its tight bun. She had toned, endless legs. Her li8ps were distracting, especially that teasing mole in the corner. She could give a dead monk a boner.

Then he began tearing at his clothes. She heard the linen rip and the buttons ping as they scattered over the floor. She thought she should be frightened by the frenzy, but instead she was fascinated that she could elicit such a reaction from a man. That he was fairly mad with wanting her.

Ik wrong en wreef me opene muis tegen z'n geertig likkende mond aan en spoot meteen al me geil, dat hij zo lekker vond, uit me mossel weg. Het stroomde zo over z'n gelaat, een fontein van geil, waarvan hij dronk of het een whisky-pruimsap was. Ik verloor het bewustzijn erbij (...)

Ik wentelde me naar hem toe en legde me met wijdgeopende muis over z'n stijve boodschapper neer. Ik zei hem dat ik z'n fluit wou, dat ik er heet naar lag, dat ik ze binnen in me kut moest hebben. Me muis heeft honger naar je stijve zaadworst, zei ik hem. Ik weet niet wat ik d'r allemaal nog uitflapte (...)

Als ik niet naar het feest kan vanwege haar lesbische lust, GAAT JUFFROUW STAMP DOOD, ZE GAAT DOOD.