Quotes About Pleasure

You should also know that a true woman is more pleased by the pleasure she gives to a man than by the pleasure she takes from him.

You don't talk dirty to make him hot. You talk dirty to communicate what you need. And most guys, if you go, Yeah, yeah, just like that, a little more to the left, they'll do it.

Happiness is closer to the experience of acceptance and contentment than it is to pleasure. True happiness exists as the spacious and compassionate heart's willingness to feel whatever is present.

The greatest satisfaction comes not from chasing pleasure and avoiding pain, but from the radical acceptance of life as it is, without fighting and clinging to passing desires.

The Dalai Lama is rumored to have said that being able to have sex without any attachment would take the level of attainment of being able to eat either chocolate cake or dog shit without any preference between the two.

That's the catch about betrayal, of course: that it feels good, that there's something immensely pleasurable about moving from a complicated relationship which involves minor atrocities on both sides to a nice, neat, simple one where one person has done something so horrible and unforgivable that the other person is immediately absolved of all the low-grade sins of sloth, envy, gluttony, avarice and I forget the other three.

My idea of a perfect day is a frozen custard at Shake Shack and a walk in the park. (Followed by a Lactaid.) My idea of a perfect night is a good play and dinner at Orso. (But no garlic, or I won't be able to sleep.) The other day I found a bakery that bakes my favorite childhood cake, and it was everything I remembered: it made my week.

You can never have too much butter.

Here's the thing about dessert--you want it to last. You want to savor it.

I couldn't believe that anyone would be so sexually driven that he might actually skip lunch—and after an auction! I think of myself as a healthy person with a strong sex drive, but it's never occurred to me to forgo meals.

I couldn't believe that anyone would be so sexually driven that he might actually skip lunch-and after an auction! I think of myself as a healthy person with a strong sex drive, but it's never occurred to me to forgo meals.

That's the catch about betrayal, of course: that it feels good, that there's something immensely pleasurable about moving from a complicated relationship which involves minor atrocities on both sides to a nice, neat, simple one where one person has done something so horrible and unforgivable that the other person is immediately absolved of all the low-grade sins of sloth, envy, gluttony, avarice and I forget the other three.

Why would anyone want to do it on the floor when a bed was available? I'll tell you the truth: even sex on a beach seems to me to be going too far.

Earrings are like orgasms. You can never have too many. I never thought about it quite that way. Well, you're a man. She gave his knee a friendly pat.

Sex might satisfy, food might fuel, love might sustain, but without coffee, what is the point?

I want a beer. I want a giant, ice-cold bottle of beer and shower sex.

Men shake hands after they beat each other up; we eat chocolate.

Why is it you think you'll live forever and why do you want to, I'd like to know, when you deny yourselves so many of the basic pleasures in life?

You can't write well what you don't read for pleasure. If it doesn't entertain you, it's not going to entertain anyone else.

I don't get treadmills. You get all sweaty and go nowhere. Now, sex? You get all sweaty and go everywhere.

He's been very distracted the last few days." "Has he now?" "And short-tempered." Brenna found her appetite coming back. I'm delighted to hear it. I hope he suffers, the donkey's ass." Brenna went through the rest of her workday whistling, her mood bright and her hands nimble. She supposed it wasn't very charitable of her to take pleasure in the idea of another's unhappiness, but she was human, after all.

She could hold him close now, touch as she was touched. Taste as she was tasted. The pleasure filled her—the glide of his hands, the heat of his lips, the catch of his breath as they rolled together to find more.

I don't get treadmills. You get all sweaty and go nowhere. Now, sex? You get all sweaty and go everywhere." He lifted his head to look at her. "Now I'm going to think about sex whenever I'm on the treadmill." "You're welcome.

The tension was slipping away from under his fingers as he touched her, and building everywhere else. A kind of gathering inside her, a concentration of heat. The pressure in her chest was so sudden and strong it made her breath short. The muscles in her stomach began to twist, tighten. Ache. "My face doesn't have anything to do with what I am." "Maybe not, but that doesn't take away the pure pleasure of looking at it.