Quotes About Desire

She swallowed. He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?

She caught her breath on a sob. He was going to London to bed another woman.

Now, had he the dressing of her- and why should he not?- he would put her in reds- rose and scarlet and deep, sensual crimson. Those dark inquisitor's eyes would burn from a foil of crimson cloth, mysterious, feminine. Beautiful. He was startled at the thought. Plain Mrs. Crumb beautiful? Well, most might not think her so, but oh, if she burned-

I'm Joanna but you can call me Jo if you wish. I've always wanted someone to call me Jo. It's sounds so dashing, don't you think?

Oh, he was glorious! He was everything she'd suspected- and feared- that first morning. His shoulders so wide, his chest swirled with wet, dark hair his hips slim, and his sex framed by the V of muscle that ran from the sides of his belly to his groin. His cock bobbed wetly, the foreskin already pulled taut under the head. His thighs were long and bulged with muscle, and even his feet were large and hairy.

He remembered Mrs. Dews' light brown eyes last night. The way they'd closed in bliss when he'd fed her the plum tart… Her emotion was foreign, wild and exciting, and entirely fascinating--and she tried so very hard to hide it. Why? He wanted to spend time with the source of such powerful emotion. Wanted to experiment, poke and prod, see what else made her cheeks flush her breath come fast.

Fuck, you mean?His eyes narrowed to slits. Make love. Make love to me. Now

His knee pressed between her thighs, bunching the linen against her woman's place, spreading her and rubbing into her folds. She found herself undulating against that knee, pleasuring herself with his hard, hot, wet body.

Would you prefer it if I'd continued to wear your shirt and banyan? Actually he'd quite liked her wearing his clothes, both because her breasts had been unbuttoned it made something in him very, very content. The yellow dress, however, quite suited her. She seemed to glow in the candlelight, like a beacon of purity.

Boys mystified me, although I dreamed vaguely of men.

I knew people who dreamed all the time about going somewhere else, and they let that ruin their lives. When you are not allowed to do something, it often becomes very important.

When you are not allowed to do something, it often becomes very important.

The Persian poet Rumi says, The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want.

The greatest stories ever told trace a path through the charred and exalted landscape of romantic love.

first hot touch of his tongue, she trembled

it is much the same, I daresay, wherever and whenever men desire power and the use of power on others.

Yes, she had needed that. She had needed it all her life, without knowing that was what she needed. The joy of creation, of play, had been the empty place unfilled by family and social duties. She would have loved her children better, she thought now, if she had realized how much she herself needed to play, to follow her own childish desire to handle beautiful things and make more beauty.

But people do not always want peace as much as they want their own way.

Wanting peace does not bring it … and if trouble comes, a king or a realm must be prepared.

I love you," he said flatly. "I--love--you. Shall I elaborate? I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you. I didn't want to love you. I tried not to love you. I will undoubtedly regret loving you, but--God help me--I love you--so much--" "That's what I thought you said," I murmured.

He would not let her go. Even though, staring into her open eyes in the swirling salt-filled water, with sun flashing though each wave, he thought he would like this moment to be forever: the dark-haired woman on shore calling for their safety, the girl who had once jumped rope like a queen, now holding him with a fierceness that matched the power of the ocean—oh, insane, ludicrous, unknowable world! Look how she wanted to live, look how she wanted to hold on.

Sometimes, like now, Olive had a sense of just how desperately hard every person in the world was working to get what they needed. For most, it was a sense of safety, in the sea of terror that life increasingly became. (211)

My plans for today are to hang about hoping for a glimpse of her, to have my heart eaten away by the thought of her; to feel my blood bounding maddeningly, ridiculously, like a young boy's; to despair; to realise the weight of my misery and hunger with each step I take.

Give me a book. There is no present I care about but that.