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Quote by Craig D. Lounsbrough

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Craig D. Lounsbrough

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“Much better were the quiet afternoons in the dim light ... my legs hanging from the end of the bed while he kneeled before my body as if in supplication. I was a greedy lover, he teased, and I was, I was, this desire, this pleasure, unknown and new. Light streamed into my bedroom early in the autumn through the thin lace curtains. The morning after Jude spent the night at my house for the first time, I turned to look at him beside me. He looked old. Not older, old.”

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Book:Thirst for Salt
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“What matters now is this, he said. He pulled me close, kissed the top of my head. Here, with you. I was so eager to be loved by him, to be held in his arms and reassured, to shut out the ghosts of other girlfriends from the room like a cold draft, I said nothing more. Climbing on top of him, my hand on his chest, an animal warmth. I bent to kiss him and let the damp ropes of my hair drag across his face, his chest. He reached up and moved his hands through it, as if it were light or water. I can see it all over your face, he said. Such naked wanting. I told him that I'd always been afraid of wanting anything so badly that it becomes visible.”

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Book:Thirst for Salt
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“Tout le monde a quelque chose à cacher, elle, c'est une survivante qui trimbale son enfer avec elle, qui commande encore à ses nerfs, à ses muscles, et a tout asséché en elle. Elle laisse les mains de Freddie se promener sous ses vêtements, elle ne sent rien, son corps ne frémit pas, ne se réchauffe pas, ne s'excite pas sous les caresses insistantes. Elle finit par dire oui et je n'ai pas souvenir d'un sentiment de plénitude. C'était fait, voilà tout.”

LoveDesireUnrequited LoveConfusing Love
Book:L'Amour après
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“And the system pretends to go along, to become more supple and resourceful, less dependent on rigid categories. But even as desire tends to specialize, going silky and intimate, the force of converging markets produces an instantaneous capital that shoots across horizons at the speed of light, making for a certain furtive sameness, a planing away of particulars that affects everything from architecture to leisure time to the way people eat and sleep and dream.”

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Book:Underworld
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