Quotes About Passion

Sex and love are not identical twins. Not fraternal. Not born at the same moment but still of the same womb.

Love ain't never been a rational beast.

Sometimes I want the friendship of a man but other times I only want his passion. Friendship can be false; passion never lies.

The heart define whom we are were attracted to. I was attracted to him, sexually, mentally and maybe even spiritually. And the heart decided for how long that inner madness would last.

Like she said, love wasn't a switch that could be turned off. It was more like a battery, had to run until there was no more energy left.

We kissed again . . . . My clit began to twerk.

The mouth that you love to feel sucking you. The mouth that makes your toes curl, the mouth that makes you ache and moan.

He tongue swiped my sex like was licking the frosting off a cupcake. I called out to heaven again. . . . My sounds encouraged him to torture me.

His sexual movements were smoother than warm butter, creative, musical, and right away he became a conductor who directed the performance and moans of his one-woman orchestra with his dick. I sang like a choir.

My sounds encouraged his tongue to torture me. . . . Without embarrassment he sucked me like I was a man . . . . Glanced up at me as I looked down at him. . . . Then put all of his tongue deep inside me again. I lost it. People in planes, and on Century, Sepulveda, and Airport boulevards, heard my sexual pleas.

That's what sex does: it starts relationships and it verifies the end of relationships.

We'd had sex like we were whores to each other, and when it was done, we each moved to our side of the bed, boxers going to their corners, then when it was time the imaginary bell rang and we went at it again.

If I carried Catherine to the top of Mount Corcovado and placed her before the statue of Christ the Redeemer, Jesus would close his eyes and turn his back on her. If she touched his feet, the six million stone tiles that covered the religious figure would catch fire and fall like fiery rain

He carried me, my legs wrapped around him, and moved in and out of me, stroked me as he walked around the room.

I felt it coming and it felt so good, the hollowness inside my belly, a rising savageness, a sensation of hunger that I wanted to run from, yet embrace; control, yet submit to; and all I could do was squirm.

Falling in love is easy. Being in love sucks.

I'm guns and roses without the roses

the walls of her vagina tightening around me as she laughed.

He made himself comfortable on his back and I climbed him, straddled his face . . . and leaned toward the headboard so I could keep my balance and stay in control, so I wouldn't fall on his nose.

Her young lover changed positions, grabbed her and pulled her rear up high . . . went inside her at a brand-new angle, stroked and grunted. . . . Like he wanted to crawl inside her.

I held his energy in my hand. When it was firm, when it was rising, I let it go, eased it down to his inner thigh, watched it spring back up

nobody who can think should ever be forced into a situation that bores them.)

But the fact is, she [the muse] won't be summoned. She alights when it damn well pleases her. She falls in love with one artist, then deserts him for another. She's a real bitch!

Great loves have legs and wings. They are substantial. They do not dissapate so easily... Great loves have staying power. Or so I told myself.