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Quote by Lailah Gifty Akita

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Lailah Gifty Akita

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“Love is a chemical reaction, But it cannot be fully understood or defined by science. And though a body cannot exist without a soul, It too cannot be fully understood or defined by science. Love is the most powerful form of energy, But science cannot decipher its elements. Yet the best cure for a sick soul is love, But even the most advanced physician Cannot prescribe it as medicine. INCOMPLETE SCIENCE by Suzy Kassem”

“Waiting is an anticipated expiation. Every pleasure is surrounded by a waiting area which expresses the fact that millions of people desire the same thing at the same time. Waiting is the neutralization of the respective desires which bear upon the same object. Even perhaps upon suffering and death. If death were a public service, there would be waiting lists. Impatience finds its justification as a refusal of this void, this abeyance of time which has no justification in any other world and which is produced by the overcrowding, the overpopulation of all desires. Certain women dream only of winning a man. Others, though they are rarer, dream only of losing men. They have expiated their femininity in advance and the pleasure it can give them. If they have some sensual disposition, this disappears to be replaced by a more subtle game-plan. Just as thought reserves itself a sort of mental domination, with no concern to change the world, but the sole aim of abolishing it, certain women devote themselves to a sort of mental prostitution in which men, weary of tame pleasures, may play at their own ruin.”

“Smiling, she reached for the book. “I’d be happy to show it to you. It’s one of Arthur’s favorites.” Oh, what wicked fun. She was taunting him without mercy now, she realized, but his reaction was so entertaining— almost adorable —that she couldn’t help herself. When he said nothing, she plucked the book from his hands and flipped it to page forty, revealing a couple in a pose so erotic that even she raised a brow when she saw it again. She stepped closer, turning the book toward him as she tapped the illustration. “This is the one.” As he peered down at the picture, his eyes widened a fraction. She suppressed a grin as she sensed this very staid and proper vicar’s inability to look away, ensnared by his own carnal instincts. He examined the image for several seconds and then lifted his eyes to hers. Something unexpected— something primal — flashed in his expression then, and her knees wobbled and nearly buckled under the intensity of his gaze as it smoldered and bored into her soul. He gently tugged at the book, removing it from her grip, and in so doing, inadvertently brushed her fingers with his own. She wanted to pull away from him, but so help her, she could not break the contact, and suddenly, the tables turned. Suddenly, this was no longer her little game, her amusing trifle. Suddenly, it was very real. All humor vanished as she realized the joke was now very much on her.”

“He had to have her, he definitely had to have her. She was not merely the latest object on which his greedy desire to be saved had fixed itself; no, she was the woman who was going to save him. The woman whose fine intelligence and deep sympathy and divine body, yes, whose divine body would successfully deflect his attention from the gloomy well shaft of his feelings and the contemplation of his past.”