Quotes About Desire

You know the cops dont like us, because they wanna rock just like us.

The money is the motive.

She wants to own me and I aint trying to fight it.

Ran into a super woman, turned her to a super bitch, hit her with that super d-ck, she be cumming super quick.

He was terrified, he was thrilled. That was love.

I'm getting really tired of bleeding. Someone stop the world, I want to get off.

He'd pulled back a little, just with his lower half, and I was afraid the scorch in my cheeks would set fire to the rest of me, because I an idea why. Wow. Oh wow.

He stared at her face as if he wanted to peel it off and take it home with him. What a gruesome thought, Rowan.

The lie tasted of brass, and she suddenly longed for a glass of decent wine and an exceedingly sensational and frivolous novel, read in the comfort of her own bed.

He kissed her, over and over, printing blood-flavored kisses on her cheek, her throat, her jaw, her mouth.

I will do anything for you, just don't go anywhere. Just don't leave. Stand there and smile at me, and I'll do anything you want.

No problem, Goth Boy. First one's free.

He is wine and bread and deep in my stomach.

Nell and Fen had chased away my thoughts of suicide. But what had they left me with? Fierce desires, a great tide of feeling of which I could make little sense, an ache that seemed to have no name but want. I want. Intransitive. No object. It was the opposite of wanting to die. But it was scarcely more bearable.

Both Fen & Helen needed me to choose, to be their one & only when I didn't want a one & only. I loved that Amy Lowell poem when I first read it, how her lover was like red wine at the beginning and then became bread. But that has not happened to me. My loves remain wine to me, yet I become too quickly bread to them.

He kissed where I was touching, just below my collarbone, in that place where all my feelings got caught. I believed she'd sent him to me as a gift to help me through.

She laughed. 'Was she wine or bread to you?' 'What do you mean?' 'It's from an Amy Lowell poem we all loved in college. Wine is sort of thrilling and sensual, and bread is familiar and essential.

That night at Gertie's when she asked me if I preferred to be the one who loved slightly more or loved slightly less. More, I said. Not this time, she said in my ear. I am the one who will always love more. I didn't say, But I love without needing to own. Because I didn't know the difference then.

Is it always that way with men, that first burst of love or sex the thing that binds you? Do you always have to harken back to those first weeks when just the way he walked across a room made you want to take off all your clothes?

The impulse to touch her and all the life in her was something I had to check regularly.

And I kiss him. A long uninterrupted kiss that goes straight through my body, ringing it in the very best way.

When I get out of the car I'm so horny I can barely walk up the driveway.

I couldn't sleep beside him. It was too strong. I wanted him too much. It never went away. (32)

That night at Gertie's when she asked me if I preferred to be the one who loved slightly more or loved slightly less.