Quotes About Desire

I'll no' love ye, Kate Campbell. No' ever.

I like kissing you," he whispered roughly, dipping his forehead against hers. "I like kissing you, too," Sam breathed. I am mad with desire for you. He told her silently. But there's more to it. I want to make you happy. I find that I'm not happy unless you are. What does it mean? She wasn't sure what it meant, but she liked it.

He leaned forward, over her. "The sight of you—the scent of you is driving me mad, Sam. Shall I beg you for a kiss the way Sir Tristan did with Lady Patrice?" He looked down into her eyes and smiled. That smile was Sam's undoing.

Marcus? He heard her a few minutes later. Marcus. Another part of him. A part that loved her—whether he understood it or not. A part that drove him to continue. Sing to me, he told her. Sing the song we heard the night we went flying, the night at my cave. Sing it and I'll find you. Hurry, Marcus. I'm coming.

Trust hangs somewhere between knowing what your heart longs for and trying to dictate the shape or timing or outcome of your heart's desire. It lies in the willingness to accept the particulars of how and when and where God chooses to intervene. It waits in the cool shade of surrender.

Boone stood in front of Doc, half naked. Soft black hair ran down his chest, disappearing below his belt. He had arms that made a woman feel light as a scarf, a stomach flat enough to iron on, and an attitude set to smolder.

A culpa foi minha. Por ter desejado ser o que jamais poderia ser. A culpa é do mundo, que me ensinou a odiar.

I'll take your breath any way you give it to me, Shura.

I am so tired — so tired. I see too many people, Read too many books. Do too many things. I hate the theaters, I hate my work, I want you, — only you.... Come to me between the cool sheets And let me burrow my head in your shoulder....

This could be a dream,' Phase II said, 'Not one that wakes you up in a panic, but one that makes you never want to wake up at all

Hablas de amor, pero ni siquiera sabes de qué se trata. A los diecisiete años, el amor es un fuego que consume el cuerpo, pero en el cual no interviene todavía el corazón. Por eso te perdono que te hayas lanzado sobre mí con semejante violencia. Por eso no te hago arrojar en prisión. ¿Amor? ¿Acaso significan algo para ti mis pensamientos, mis planes o mis sueños? ¡Vete de aquí enseguida!

As a matter of fact," the other voice went on, "if you do tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that's no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.

Would she ever dare tell him that no pleasure, no joy, no figment of her imagination could ever compete with the happiness she felt at the way he used her with such utter freedom, at the notion that he could do anything with her, that there was no limit, no restriction in the manner with which, on her body, he might search for pleasure?

Whatever he wanted of her she wanted too, solely because he was asking it of her.

Finally a woman confesses! Confess what? What women never allowed themselves to confess. What men always criticized on them: they only obey the blood and everything is sex on them, even the spirit.

She was waiting for more than permission, since she already had permission. She was waiting for an order.

She wanted him to love her, there, the truth was out: she wanted him to be chafing under the urge to touch her lips and penetrate her body, to devastate her if need be, but not to remain so calm and self-possessed.

To say that O began to await her lover the minute he left her is a vast understatement: she was henceforth nothing but vigil and night.

They can do whatever they want with me, I don't care," she murmured. "But tell me you still love me.

The word "open" and the expression "opening her legs" were, on her lover's lips, charged with such uneasiness and power that she could never hear them without experiencing a kind of internal prostration, a sacred submission, as though a god, and not he, had spoken to her.

She moaned in the darkness, all the time he possessed her. The

For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more, as it bound her to him, all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravaged. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him.

She could not help thinking that the expression "open oneself to someone," which meant to give oneself, for her had only one meaning, a literal, physical, and in fact absolute meaning, for she was in fact opening every part of her body which was capable of being opened. It also seemed to her that this was her raison d'être

What her lover wanted from her was very simple: that she be constantly and immediately accessible. It was not enough for him to know that she was: she was to be so without the slightest obstacle intervening, and her bearing and clothing both were to bespeak, as it were, the symbol of that availability to experienced eyes.