Quotes About Pleasure

The pleasures of the flesh are sweet. – Mmm, flesh, said Puck.

So they fucked wild, Puk astride at first, then turned, to his hands and knees, to be tupped under Jaq's hunching thrusts, hips and shoulder and fists of hair yanked back, for the prick to ram jam bam and cram him, till he felt it fill him, and he'd swear to cock, the jism spouted into and through him and out his own spurting prick.

an only son named Jack. Jack was a boy of a bold temper; he took pleasure in hearing or reading stories

fernando ate britny out

Secrets are my currency: I deal in them for a living. The secrets of desire, of what people really want, and of what they fear the most. The secrets of why love is difficult, sex complicated, living painful and death so close and yet placed far away. Why are pleasure and punishment closely related? How do our bodies speak? Why do we make ourselves ill? Why do you want to fail? Why is pleasure hard to bear?

I can only think how good life on earth can be, at times. What grief two people can give to one another! And what pleasure!

He is a gay man, my dear, to say no more; and such are the companions we wish when we join a party avowedly formed for pleasure.

Drink, drink! Bacchus is the enemy of Venus. "From The Diary Of An Orange Tree

She was lying on a sofa, fast asleep. She was so very beautiful that the merchant's son was driven to kiss her. She woke up and was dreadfully frightened, but he said that he was a Prophet of the Turks and he had flown down through the air to see her, and this pleased her very much.

FrumuseÈ›ea ca înzorzonare ÅŸi alunecare decadent?, sedus?, în puterea pl?cerii ÅŸi pl?cerea puterii, st? contra frumuseÈ›ii adoraÈ›iei ÅŸi a slujirii unicului Dumnezeu glorios.

Coffee black, water tap, whisky neat.

Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.

We read deeply for varied reasons, most of them familiar: that we cannot know enough people profoundly enough; that we need to know ourselves better; that we require knowledge, not just of self and others, but of the way things are. Yet the strongest, most authentic motive for deep reading…is the search for a difficult pleasure.

Rereading old books is the highest form of literary pleasure and instructs you in what is deepest in your own yearnings. Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you, because it is, at least in my experience, the most healing of pleasures. It returns you to otherness, whether in yourself or in friends. Imaginative literature is otherness and as such, alleviates loneliness.

Reading well is one of the greatest pleasures that solitude can afford you.

too much explanation can take the pleasure out of any poetry. (Preface, vii)

Lincoln had an almost childlike habit of regaling visitors with any sharp saying he'd uttered during the day, taking simple-hearted pleasure in some of his best hits.

We totally misunderstand what it means to be alive when we think of our lives as time we can use in search of rewards and pleasure. Frantically and in growing frustration, we search through our days, our years, looking for the reward, for the success that will make our lives worthwhile, like the security guard looking through the trash in the wheelbarrow for something of value and all the while missing the obvious answer. When you have learned how to live, life itself is the reward.

In short, their unspeakable acts are a source of supreme pleasure to serial killers, who achieve the highest pitch of arousal—even to the point of orgasm—by inflicting savage harm on other human beings. Because doing terrible things feels so good to them, serial killers try not to get caught, so they can keep on enjoying their atrocities for as long as possible.

Sadistic pleasure isn't just about the infliction of pain. It also has to do with the assertion of power—the lust to dominate, to reduce a victim to a state of total submission.

It is not enough for a woman to murder an enemy; she wants to make him suffer, and she enjoys his death.

It's different up here, you know." "I know," said Laura miserably. "I was -- enjoying myself, that's all." Nick watched her for a moment. "Don't look so tragic about it, Laura. It's not a crime to enjoy yourself, you know." "Yes, it is," muttered Laura, feeling as if she were in some biblical parable, the one where the Lord wreaks vengeance on the stupid girl who is a foolish wanton by removing the last shred of common sense in her brain.

As I lie on my couch by the fireplace, looking out from my hillside home at the snow leading down to the ocean, with the right woman in my arms, a glass of Bordeaux beside me and a Puccini opera on the stereo system, knowing that I've earned the pleasure I feel, I'm so glad I didn't let someone else decide what's best for me.

He was not yet in the Church, but already a sin without a name had occurred to him. Ordinarily, the thought might give him pleasure. He remembered Nunes saying that a man must come into the Church on his own intellectual level. And in a horror, remote but clear, saw that the more intelligent a man was, the more various the sins he was capable of committing.