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Attraction Quotes

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Attraction Quotes

“The reason as to why we are attracted to our opposites is because they are our salvation from the burden of being ourselves.”

“Poppy. 'That's the third time you've called me that,' I said. 'Fourth,' he corrected, and I blinked. 'We're friends, aren't we? Only your friends and your brother call you that, and you may be the Maiden, and I'm a Royal Guard, but all things considered, I would hope that you and I are friends.' 'We are.' And we were. His hand flattened against my cheek, and a sigh shuddered through him. 'And I'm not... I'm not being a good friend or guard right now. I'm not...' His hand slid, and his fingers curled around the nape of my neck for a few seconds before he slipped his hand away. 'I really should get you back to your room. It's getting late.”

“Among all the modes by which love is brought into being, among all the agents which disseminate that blessed bane, there are few so efficacious as this gust of feverish agitation that sweeps over us from time to time. For then the die is cast, the person whose company we enjoy at that moment is the person we shall henceforward love. It is not even necessary for that person to have attracted us, up till then, more than or even as much as others. All that was needed was that our predilection should become exclusive. And that condition is fulfilled when — in this moment of deprivation — the quest for the pleasures we enjoyed in his or her company is suddenly replaced by an anxious, torturing need, whose object is the person alone, an absurd, irrational need which the laws of this world make it impossible to satisfy and difficult to assuage — the insensate, agonising need to possess exclusively.”

“Her scent was there, swirling all around him. It was feminine, but not elegant. Not like flowers or the spring air, but rather like an autumn breeze, weaving its way through branches well on their way to winter slumber. It was the scent of a fall evening casting its glow over a serene lake. It was the smell of sunset, something he hadn’t seen in so long.”

“When you paint your lips, eye lids, nails or whatever, to look attractive, don't forget your up stairs(intellect) if you leave it behind, i will consider all other colors invalid.”

“Chong said, "Do yourself a favor, Morg. Next time you're staring at a girl's boobs, look up. You'll be shocked to learn it, but there's going to be a face up there. Nose, mouth, eyes. And behind the eyes is an actual person." "Yes, Confucius, I know. Girls are people. Wisom of the ages. Nix is a girl and therefore a person. I know that." "Really?" said Chong as he watched Benny vanish around a corner. "Maybe if you looked her in the eyes, she'd know that you know.”

“Civilization could not exist without tremors of desire and without the counteracting, negation force of disciplined denial. Nor would the gyratory pulsations of a lively civilization exist devoid of the convulsive chemistry of union and repellency. We are born with a desire to be immortal. Cursed with the knowledge that we must die, people live their orthodox lives out by displaying reckless abandon as to the outcome of human life or nervously hounded by utter despondency nipping their heels. How we resolve this decidedly human complex of carrying out our daily lives while burden by our inescapable mortality determines our essential character. The collation of similar values adopted by our community determines who we are as a people.”

“Ese amor, que explota de la nada como una supernova, no existe. Solo es un pensamiento idealizado, que solemos confundir con otra reacción química igual de arrolladora: la atracción. Ese algo que te hace mirar los labios de un desconocido y que los tuyos se entreabran por puro reflejo. Que tu piel se erice allí donde sus ojos se posan. Ese estremecimiento tan íntimo que te hace contraer los músculos y aguantar la respiración. Esa mirada que, de repente, te hace sentir. Cosas buenas. Agradables. A veces desconocidas. Ese aroma único y personal que provoca una liberación descontrolada de endorfinas que invaden tu sangre como una droga y crean una dependencia inmediata. Y te descubres necesitando otra dosis. En forma de sonrisa. De mirada. De un olor que se te pega en la lengua y que paladeas mucho tiempo después. Y la atracción se transforma en deseo. Del que duele y no se calma.”

“She could imagine how it would be. That was the worst part. The suggestive taunts that made her feel clumsy and hyper-vigilant, the soft touches that could spring like a trap—they painted a very vivid picture of what it would be like to fuck him, yes. He would not be nice or gentle, but he would be good, and he would gore her heart like any other trophy in this place just as soon as he was done playing with it.”

“And she said goodbye to him and closed the door, not to pressure the inhabitant to evacuate, but because doors would not be doors if they stayed open, would they? Andrei walked down the corridor, lifted his hand and clutched the air in front of his chest, as if grabbing a part of his spirit, and privately threw it in her direction, saying, “Here’s some of my soul forever, somehow, yes, for you.”

“Her limber body swayed as though in time to an orchestra and in a way that showed she ate well, and ate all kinds of things no one could tell, like veal or fresh figs in the sunshine. She had the kind of face that made one cry. She drew salt water out like sheer chemistry. The chemical reaction was usually the same sentiment—the world saw the little shelf bone under her eyes, a sharp nose, precious jaw, two moons for cheekbones, and so was deeply confused and upset that there was no metal armor attached to her body to protect her. People had cried fearing all kinds of possibilities—that a piece of hail might cut across her cheek, a drunkard might break her nose, or a car from nowhere would crash into hers and shatter her skull entirely. But no case of that happened. She remained unblemished. Watchful cars slowed down for her as she walked, drunkards sobered at her eyes, and even hail made way for this little human.”

“He eyed her fingernails, painted bright blue. Her wrists smelled like peppermint and she said her name was “Stella.” Andrei was impressed by her femininity, the subject of which was a dangerous thing. When some men are exposed to a certain kind of woman, they become so absolutely entranced by their iridescence that they would do anything to be around them for longer. Lie. Linger. Kill. It was a pure, wild attraction, that started from a collarbone, that would make a man agree to rip out his tooth if only to hear a woman talk again. Lastly, she had these devilish eyes exclusive to brown and only ever sometimes encountered. Those types of eyes were so dark they had death in them, but were framed with such sweet, narrow eyelids that took death, swirled it in a sizzling adorableness, and communicated a dangerous, impatient capability for sex. It seduced men throughout history—what lived behind the mischievous, delicate, hickory fire.”

“To Andrei, he could see all that was unpleasant about her face—her large nose and bony frame. But inside her, there was so much peace and contentment that somehow, she lit up everywhere. She was beautiful to him. It was the kind of attraction between people who were really people—and who could see the other person’s aura and makings. He saw what made her flesh move, and not her flesh. The intricate mechanics of her person, and not her shell. Andrei looked at O’Hare and saw something genderless—a kind of organism that was born and that over time has been affected and affects—that was ultimately kind and brave. It was the highest rank of physical desire one could experience. When the beautiful made standard love to each other, there always lay at least one angle of ugly—maybe in the dark, from the side, with a sound they made, or everything once one was finished. In what O’Hare and Andrei shared, beauty could take its time and no second could stop it. It was the type of wholesome love that made a couple stare for minutes at the other, not because they adored their lover’s eye color, but because in those minutes they were speaking to the person within the person, finding them, seeing them see, and playing together in that invisible planet created by two intuitive inventors.”

“Laurel stood on stage. She was very still. Her lovely blue eyes were lowered modestly. Her silver blonde hair fell in disheveled curls around her face, white roses and strands of pearls woven artfully throughout. A necklace of what looked like diamonds clasped her slender throat while white kid gloves were drawn up to her elbow. She held a fan of frosted silver in one hand, dangling at her side. Her dress was a shimmering sapphire blue, and it fit her exquisitely, molding to her form, hugging her small bosom and lifting her breasts until they appeared ready to spill from the satin bodice. A silver braided sash cinched her waist, emphasizing its narrowness. And then, she lifted her head, raised the hand that held the fan, then the other one and, tipping her head back, opened her eyes. They were haunting and luminous, soft in the candlelight. Her skin was pale and smooth. The crowd was utterly quiet, watching her. And then, she began to sing. If Dare had thought Laurel Spencer beautiful before, now she became goddess-like to him in an instant as a melody so heart-wrenching and lovely spilled forth from her lips.”

“I was attracted to this old woman. It wasn’t because of the flesh, even though she carried with her the remnants of a stunning lady. I was drawn to her personhood. She was sort of a funny thing, that Margo. And in addition to a chosen sweetness, she had a rare humility that shines and caresses you at the same time. It leaves you asking: how’d she get there—to that place? When she looked at you, they were not with any ordinary pair of eyes. They were with eyes that read Ibsen, eyes that competed in tennis matches, that watched loved ones disappear into the ground, that undressed a lifetime of men, that saw the world and now looks at you.”