Quotes About Temptation

I had to lie so much about sex, first when I was 15, because I wasn't supposed to be having it. And then when I got older, I lied to everybody I was having sex with, so I could have sex with other people.

When you find yourself on the Internet when you're supposed to be writing, you've already lost. It's even beyond procrastination when you end up on the Internet.

Being a Baptist won't keep you from sinning, but it'll sure as hell keep you from enjoying it.

Surely a King who loves pleasure is less dangerous than one who loves glory?

I have to be careful with surfing. It's still an addiction to me. It's all I want to do, and that's the big dilemma I have with it.

Satan would have you believe that happiness comes only as you surrender to his enticements, but one only needs to look at the shattered lives of those who violate God's laws to know why Satan is called the Father of Lies.

The issue is not possession of riches, according to Saint Augustine, but the desire for them.

Drinking's funny. When I look back on it, all of our important decisions have been figured out when we were drinking. Even when we talked about having to cut back on drinking, we'd be sitting at the kitchen table or out at the picnic table with a six-pack or whiskey.

That morning she pours Teacher's over my belly and licks it off. That afternoon she tries to jump out the window.

But for some reason—who knows why we do what we do?—his drinking picks up.

I like smooth shiny girls, hardboiled and loaded with sin.

She had eyes like strange sins.

I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.

A check girl in peach-bloom Chinese pajamas came over to take my hat and disapprove of my clothes. She had eyes like strange sins.

She'd make for a jazzy week-end, but she'd be wearing for a steady diet.

She approached me with enough sex appeal to stampede a businessmen's lunch and tilted her head to finger a stray, but not very stray, tendril of softly glowing hair. Her smile was tentative, but could be persuaded to be nice.

A slice of spumoni wouldn't have melted on her now.

The latter think the shortest distance between two points is from a blonde to a bed.

you have to hold your teeth clamped around Hollywood to keep from chewing on stray blondes.

She approached me with enough sex appeal to stampede a businessmen's lunch

I went down to the lobby and slipped the catch and then took a shower and put my pajamas on and lay down on the bed. I could have slept for a week. I dragged myself up off the bed again and set the catch on the door, which I had forgotten to do, and walked through a deep hard snowdrift out to the kitchenette and laid out glasses and a bottle of liqueur Scotch I had been saving for a really high-class seduction.

I bet she snaps a mean garter.

I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs. Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble. She was stretched out on a modernistic chaise-longue with her slippers off, so I stared at her legs in the sheerest silk stockings. They seemed to be arranged to stare at. They were visible to the knee and one of them well beyond. The knees were dimpled, not bony and sharp. The calves were beautiful, the ankles long and slim and with enough melodic line for a tone poem.

Don't kid yourself. You're a dirty low-down detective. Kiss me.