Quotessence
Home / Topics / Lesbian Fiction Quotes

Lesbian Fiction Quotes

Browse 20 quotes about Lesbian Fiction.

Lesbian Fiction Quotes

“Oil Painting, Painted By an Unknown Artist, Describing Sadness, Regret, and Defeat. ''..She felt like a character in a no-name oil painting, drawn by an unknown artist, describing sadness, regret and defeat. She pictured that painting in her mind, and this time lay down on her bed as if taking her place in that painting. It was not strange for her that a character that had been out of place for a long time was now re-entering there. On the contrary, by inhaling the scent of oil painting, Melisa plunged into resignation, as if she had found her place and even what she deserved...' A Quote from Angel Diarys -Babylonian Spell”

“How pitiful,” Ariadne says, her eyes filled with resentment, “To be infatuated with someone who bests you at every turn. Feel free to continue dreaming of me as you have, because that is the only way you could have me. I shall be the superior witch at this school and win Morgan’s pendant, as is my right. The victory will only be sweeter knowing how much you want me while I do it.”

“It started to rain suddenly and ferociously as they pulled up in front of Rose’s house. A mist covered the truck. It was as if a fire hose had opened up on the dusty, dry earthen roads. The smell of moist earth and damp, pungent flowering trees gave off the last bit of heat from the former Carolina summer sun of a few minutes ago. Now cooled suddenly by the rainwater, an immediate fog to rose off the hot metal of the truck and the soil. It was impossible to see more than a few feet in the formidable rain and sudden fog. Rose pulled Carmen to her and wrapped herself around her, one hand playing around through her T as she kissed her, one hand pushing gently at her pants.”

“Touching her fingers, touching skin to skin. Her mouth, her breath, the shape of her flushed face. A tender hand on a naked waist, exploring the new feelings. The inner-soul scent of her hair, burying your mind in it. Inside of me, always inside of me. Memorizing the feelings and perfumes. Something one can keep. Carmen thought, Trust… Something growing. Something true. Something reaching out.”

“Then, she stepped hard on something soft. “Ouch!” exclaimed an urgent, musical voice behind her followed by another blast of that scent. That voice rang out in the night like a small bell. Damn, thought Carmen. These late-night stragglers always show up just as I am closing! “We’re closed,” she commented impatiently, not even bothering to turn around. “I can’t get you anything, my cash register is empty. And, I definitely can’t get you any gasoline. The pumps are shut down.” “You’re on my foot!” said the small, feminine voice again, protesting more loudly. “Get off!” The girl laughed. The street lights came on, as if the pressure of stepping on this person’s foot had turned them on. Carmen laughed at the synchronicity. She felt a small hand on her waist as she moved her foot off the soft place it had landed. It had been years since she had felt a woman’s touch. The feminine voice said quietly, “That hurt.” Carmen whirled around to face the girl she had stepped on, and almost lost her balance. Her eyes met the huge violet eyes of the most beautiful country girl she had ever seen standing directly behind her. Obviously, she had stepped on her. She apologized until she was speechless. Then, she coughed and indicated her truck. The girl had straight, healthy blue hair, delicately shaved over one ear and well-done light makeup with a few rhinestone studs in her ears and nose. Carmen had sucked her breath in audibly at the girl’s appearance. This diminutive girl was stunning. She was a real beauty, set in the dark country night like a diamond against the warm obsidian of the sky. And that fragrance!”

“There were about thirty of them, I think - all women; all seated at tables, bearing drinks and books and papers. You might have passed any one of them upon the street, and thought nothing; but the effect of their appearance all combined was rather queer. They were dressed, not strangely, but somehow distinctly. They wore skirts - but the kind of skirts a tailor might design if he were set, for a dare, to sew a bustle for a gent. Many seemed clad in walking-suits or riding-habits. Many wore pince-nez, or carried monocles on ribbons. There were one or two rather startling coiffures; and there were more neckties than I had ever seen brought together at any exclusively female ensemble.”