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Sapphic Love Quotes

Browse 24 quotes about Sapphic Love.

Sapphic Love Quotes

“Hélène Lagonelle’s body is heavy, innocent still, her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you almost can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much. She makes you want to kill her, she conjures up a marvelous dream of putting her to death with your own hands. Those flour-white shapes, she bears them unknowingly, and offers them for hands to knead, for lips to eat, without holding them back, without any knowledge of them and without any knowledge of their fabulous power. I’d like to eat Hélène Lagonelle’s breasts as he eats mine in the room in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I’d like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers. I am worn out with desire for Hélène Lagonelle. I am worn out with desire. I want to take Hélène Lagonelle with me to where every evening, my eyes shut, I have imparted to me the pleasure that makes you cry out. I’d like to give Hélène Lagonelle to the man who does that to me, so he may do it in turn to her. I want it to happen in my presence, I want her to do it as I wish, I want her to give herself where I give myself. It’s via Hélène Lagonelle’s body, through it, that the ultimate pleasure would pass from him to me. A pleasure unto death.”

“She was everything I had ever wanted to be and so much more. What with her sparkly eyes and animated, gesticulated hands, her beautiful blonde hair cascading down gracefully like silk and her eyes so electric and cheeks the colour of rose. Vivacious and vibrant though she was in her innate talent at being able to hold a conversation with anyone, she loved and prized being alone paramount to being besieged.”

“Jude was not human before she met Maya. She was a changeling, a facsimile: something that only ever looked human, but never knew what human felt like. So, of course, Maya ruined her. She took Jude’s hollow bones and filled them with thoughts and emotions like lead, so that she fell down to earth—so that she couldn’t fly away anymore.”

“Being queer was like holding the golden ticket to a club nobody wanted to go to. I had no idea that once I blasted down those closet doors, with their bouncers of fear, religion, and internal bias, the club would be lit. The way a party can be when everyone inside finally knows what it means to come home. My queerness is a Tupperware container (thank god) that nobody will ever find a lid for. A box that cannot be closed. The reclamation of wholeness over goodness, transforming the perpetual misfit into one holy hell of a celebration. Owning my queerness was like learning the desert floor was once the bottom of the ocean, meaning the towering 200-year-old saguaro watching over me was somehow born underwater. It is the dogged insistence on coloring outside of every single line. It is the refusal to accept a singular definition that makes the word witch at me finally feel at home in the spaces where words are left behind. My queerness rests its foundation on a ground named freedom. I speak it loudly because I have the freedom to do so without fear of reprisal or harm. I claim this life of mine under the rainbow and the complexity of the history it has given me fiercely. To love a woman in a world that said I must not will never be anything but a revolution. And when I kiss her, trust me, entire galaxies are mine.”

“Do you remember, darling A year ago today When we gave ourselves to each other Before you went away At the end of that pleasant summer weather Which we had spent by the sea together? How little we knew, my darling, All that the year would bring! Did I think of the wretched mornings When I should kiss my ring And long with all my heart to see The girl who gave the ring to me? We have not been sorry darling We loved each other so- We will not take back the promises We made a year ago- And so again, my darling I give myself to you, With graver thought than a year ago With love that is deep and true.”

“How romantic and dreamy.” My mistress sighed. “I should make someone pick a lover’s quarrel with me.” “I could do it.” The jest slipped out, my brain catching up seconds later to what my mouth had just said. “Would you, really?” Viola asked quietly. The mood shifted, the light, playful air between us dissolving.”

“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.”

“My speckled beauty,” Ariadne whispers in Iona’s ear, “You cannot know how you have captivated me. I dreamed of you, wished for you, ached for only you, perhaps even more than you did for me. Every second in your presence was exquisite torture. You must know how much power you have over me, then and now.”