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Horny Quotes

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Horny Quotes

“I can chop, sauté, dice, whisk, knead. Massage. And rub. Among other things." I bite my lip. This feels like some sort of indecent kitchen pillow talk. My eyes skim the shiny metal surface of the nearby prep table. If only there weren't a handful of servers due back in the kitchen at any minute, I'd demand he bend me over the shiny cold surface and show me for the millionth time just how good he is with his hands. That's a decidedly friends-with-benefits thought. I shake my head and glance at the clock. Only four minutes of ogling time left. "You look like you've got something on your mind." It's as if he can read the naughty thoughts crowding my head. My eyes fall to the floor. It's time to rein in the pornographic kitchen euphemisms and focus back on the task at hand.”

“Were men's knees supposed to be sexy? Their calves? One sight of Lucian's bony knee, delineated muscled thigh, and hard calf, lightly dusted with dark curling hair, made me want to reach out and stroke his leg, creep my hand under those shorts to cup what I knew would be firm and meaty and... damn. Keeping my hands to myself and my mind out of his pants was going to be difficult. Which was weird; I loved men and sex, but I'd never been preoccupied by either. Until him.”

“We can put your friends in the tower,” Vidrol added, rubbing a finger along the sharp line of his jaw. “It’s only a matter of time before the Darkness tries capturing them and using them against you. If Calder fails to produce you, that’s exactly where they’ll turn next and the tower is the most secure part of the Keep.” “And me?” I asked, my lip twitching. “Where are you going to put me?” His eyes flashed dark green, his lids growing heavy. “On your back,” he said plainly. “On my bed. On my desk. Over my throne. You pick.”

“Make love to me. Make me forget every moment of my life before you." "Oh, God." Ross released her with a savage groan and left the bed as if it were a torture rack. "I want you more than I can bear. Don't make this even more difficult." Sophia knew that she should help him in his resolve, but she couldn't seem to keep herself from saying recklessly, "Come lie with me. We won't sleep together, if that is what you want. Just hold me for a while." He growled in frustration and headed to the door. "You know what would happen if we tried that. In about five minutes I would have you on your back with your heels in the air." The crude image caused her stomach to tighten deliciously. "Ross-" "Lock the door behind me," he muttered, opening the door and crossing the threshold, without a backward glance.”

“When you're in love it's beautiful. When you're not it's just dirty filthy sex. Loveless sex has no true spiritual meaning deep inside your soul. But love makes everything totally cool. Love is God's special gift to horny teenage girls and boys. It makes them feel less guilty.”

“I also remember when I watched Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer [1990] at, like, age 15. That scared the crap out of me. Because it didn't operate inside the usual conventions of the horror genre in the way that I could accept. I can accept horny teenager counselors being murdered at camp. But I couldn't accept the derangement of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, which was that anyone could be murdered at any moment - whole families, with no build-up music and no meaning. It terrified me.”

“The energy of devils and angels is the same energy; it's how you use it. It's fuel. There is a saying: If you scare all your devils away, the angels will go away with them. You know, the halo and the horns are the same thing. I mean it's OK to be spiritually horny - that's what creative genius is all about. Geniuses don't have time to think about how it's going to be received... they don't have time to think whether people like it or not, is it morally right, will God like it?”

“We shall not attempt to give the reader an idea of that tetrahedron nose-that horse-shoe mouth-that small left eye over-shadowed by a red bushy brow, while the right eye disappeared entirely under an enormous wart-of those straggling teeth with breaches here and there like the battlements of a fortress-of that horny lip, over which one of those teeth projected like the tusk of an elephant-of that forked chin-and, above all, of the expression diffused over the whole-that mixture of malice, astonishment, and melancholy. Let the reader, if he can, figure to himself this combination.”

“Music is your own experience, your own thoughts, your wisdom. If you don't live it, it won't come out of your horn. They teach you there's a boundary line to music. But, man, there's no boundary line to art.”

“If you don't live it, it won't come out your horn.”