Best 865 quotes in «lust quotes» category

To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!

Unfortunately people sometimes suppress their lust. And it's not only sex. It could be lusting for anything really, anything that's supposedly very bad for you but can be good for you, too.

What critics call dirty in our pictures, they call lusty in foreign films.

Variety, multiplicity are the two most powerful vehicles of lust.

what man calls civilizationalways results in desertsman is never on the squarehe uses up the fat and greenery of the eartheach generation wastes a little moreof the future with greed and lust for riches

When he has the power to see things detached from self-interest and from the insistent claims of the lust of the senses, then alone can he have the true vision of the beauty that is everywhere.

When we die to something, something comes alive within us. If we die to self, charity comes alive; if we die to pride, service comes alive; if we die to lust, reverence for personality comes alive; if we die to anger, love comes alive.

Where you find the attraction for lust and wealth considerably diminished, to whatever creed he may belong, know that his inner spirit is awakening.

Wickedness is nourished by lust.

Tyranny is yielding to the lust of the governing.

When sex becomes conscious it is love, it is no longer lust. Love brings freedom, and lust simply creates prisons for you.

Why is discipline important? Discipline teaches us to operate by principle rather than desire. Saying no to our impulses (even the ones that are not inherently sinful) puts us in control of our appetites rather than vice versa. It deposes our lust and permits truth, virtue, and integrity to rule our minds instead.

Wisdom is the aristic craving for extraordinary insights, for incandescent revelations that have the power to burst through banausic and doulic ordinariness: wisdom is the lust to be transfigured, transvaluated.

With the attraction for lust and lucre working the other way, how many long for the realisation of God?

Wonder and humility are wholesome emotions and they do not exist side by side with a lust for destruction.

Yet, it ought to be obvious that good music generally occupies a higher plane that mere politics. Great writers can express moods through melody and capture experiences we share most powerfully - love, lust, longing; joy, rage, fear; triumph, yearning and confusion.

You are my beauty, my body, perfected. All I was drained off into you. When you left, my health went with you - leaving a moral morbidity I smell in my sleep. The acts I committed for the love of you. Acts I can never forget. I crawled into the bellies of the dead to fish out a little life... I have an appetite for it now. I have an unrelenting lust for death.

Youth, large, lusty, loving -- Youth, full of grace, force, fascination. Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?

ACTS OF LOVE Love is not a word Or a thought. It is the name for An action That breathes from its light. What do you DO In Love's name? And is it only done Outside In the light? Or with an inner Flame Illuminating Love's TRUE Name? I want to know. Are your actions Done by remote Or with SOUL? And when you say You love someone, Does a light go off Inside at all? What have YOU Done In the Name of LOVE? Because, Really, I want to know.

Aeneas comes to her court a suppliant, impoverished and momentarily timid. He is a good-looking man. If anything, his scars emphasize that. The aura of his divine failure wraps around him like a cloak. Dido feels the tender contempt of the strong for the unlucky, but this is mixed with something else, a hunger that worms through her bones and leaves them hollow, to be filled with fire.

A frenzy of activity that had mostly led him in circles: wasn't that a fairly accurate description of lust?

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.

All these pricks gathering around her body, trying to reach and pierce her rose.

A lot of who you were in middle age was determined before you had a chance to manipulate, control, or eve understand the things around you. It was no mystery, he thought, why some old people's minds returned to their youth; the wonder of those years, the discoveries, the first experience with the dirty secret of death, and the first stirrings of lust and love were indelible, drawn in luminous colors on clean canvas. Indeed, the first sex act was so mind-boggling that most people could still remember it clearly twenty, thirty, sixty years later.

You can see that the care he took defiling the beauty he had forced in them was as precise and clean as his good hands which at night had developed the negatives, floating the sheets in the correct acids and watching the faces and breasts and pubic triangles and sofas emerge. The making and destroying coming from the same source, same lust, same surgery his brain was capable of. (On New Orleans photographer E. J. Bellocq)

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.

A crowd of men stood in front of them. Of all ages, with expressions of sex-wonder in their eyes, gazing curiously as men who cannot solve a mystery that populates graveyards and through the ages has sent poets, popes, kings and fools to the junk heap.

A deep kiss can put you in an emotional state of coma, sometimes in a reckless vulnerability, we lose virginity and sanity, and maybe our bond of love becomes strong or weak.

After a few seconds of scraping, I realize what he has isn’t a trail, it’s a whole forest! Ack! Weren’t all men supposed to shave their chest and stuff nowadays? Whatever happened to having fuzz-free Hollywood heroes as role models? At least my embarrassment is completely foregone by the irritation at his lack of upkeep. The only thing distracting me now is that heady mix of musk, shaving cream and a distinctly…male scent. And God knows that is one seriously jeopardizing distraction. Especially with a whizzing needle in one’s hand.

Ah, lust! How one would like to make it the cornerstone of self! But I wouldn't go ahead and build on it if I were you.

Ah, lust. It makes us forget anything we want to. The greatest relaxant, the greatest stimulant.

All your jewels are mine to plunder.

A man and a woman wanting each other is by far one of the least sinful things I've seen

A month ago it would have been my dream just to be in his bedroom watching a movie, but now it’s torture because I want so much more. It’s like my entire conscious state has been reduced to this toxic blend of hope and uncertainty. I hate that I have to act cool and almost pretend I don’t like him when in fact I do, because, God forbid, I come across as desperate for attention or a little clingy, which everyone should know are perfectly natural human behaviors, after all. Ugh!

And I will remember how we made the sun blush every morning.

...and I thought, there was no God, there was only what you wanted.

And somewhere amidst the storm raging inside, between the twilight of lust and desire, entwined within the whirlwind of swirling emotions, it happened. In one lightning strike, the illusion crumbled. For I realised the naked truth...

And then there was Lydia. Lydia who had hurtled into his life – into their lives – with hair like fire, eyes like amethysts and a fuck-me scent so palpable that he’d betrayed the only woman he’d ever loved.

And then it changed. I wasn't letting him anymore. He was taking, pawing, grabbing. I pushed, I cried out, I squirmed, but like I said it's a shitty game and he didn't feel like playing by the rules anymore.

And wasn't this what she'd been after--this lightness that came galloping through, grabbing you by the waist and hauling you along with it? How could you not surrender yourself to it, even if you knew you'd end up sitting bruised in the dirt? She supposed there must be another way to experience that breathless rush of being alive--something inward, perhaps?--but she didn't know what it was or how to get there on her own.

And though her husband will appear to come alive, she knows that it is lust - too quickly ignited and too quickly extinguished - that animates him.

And where are you going?" His voice was playfully challenging. "To get some breakfast," she said without stopping. He leered. "I've got something for you to eat," he called after her. "I might bite it off, though," she said over her shoulder.

Always lust for the best, because life is too short to be an ordinary.

An unbelieving world may say otherwise, but so-called “sexual liberation” is actually sexual slavery—slavery to our own lusts.

Any halfway clever devil would decorate the highway to Hell as beautiful as possible.

Another indicator a male is ready to truly work in union on the higher levels is when he is able to see, feel and love beyond the body. Conquering the demon of lust, so to say, is a task that when accomplished the male is able to live and do life and relationship from the heart space.

Armel stepped towards her, ready to claim her in the way every other Ren claimed their mate. It might not be as magical as having a silver fox say a few words about destiny and choice but it was love and lust combined in the perfect dance of two souls.

A relationship will devalue when one puts a price on it..

Art is a positive "FORCE" that bring beings together for the common good. Only the people who had lost a piece of themselves can create the unimaginary.

As a culture, we place great stock in external appearance. Our attachment to physical beauty is something that we need to let go of, yet it seems that the majority of people are racing toward it.