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Tempting Quotes

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Tempting Quotes

“Oh, he did look like a deity – the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way.”

“Echo’s breathing hitches when I slide my thumb along a smaller scar. She likes that spot. I’ve memorized it. A centimeter below the crook of her elbow. Her skin is sensitive there, and when I kiss it, Echo normally falls apart and nearly shatters. I gently press my lips behind her ear, and Echo nudges closer to me. “Why, Echo?” “Because.” I nip at her earlobe, and she shivers. “Because why?” Her shoulder moves under my body. A half shrug maybe. “It makes me feel better.” Fuck that. “Why?” A kiss on her neck. A long one. A lingering one. God damn, Echo tastes so good. Her skin is soft and tempting. But I want answers. “Because sometimes I want to blend in.” I raise my head and stare straight into her eyes, spotting the plain honesty. What she doesn’t understand is that she could never blend in. Blazing red hair. Bright emerald eyes. The most beautiful girl in the world. She’d turn heads regardless of a sweater.”

“He sauntered to the counter. “What can I do for you?” The red bandana he wore held back the hair that typically covered his eyes. I loved his eyes. Chocolate-brown, full of mischief and a spark ready to light the world on fire. “Can I have a glass of water, please?” And please let it be free. “Is that it?” My stomach growled, loud enough for Noah to hear. “Yep, that’s it.” He fixed me a glass and handed it to me. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a burger? A nice thick burger on a toasted bun with salty fries on the side?” I sucked on my straw, gulping the ice water down. Funny, water didn’t give me that warm, fuzzy, full feeling like a burger and fries would. “I’m fine, thank you.” “Suit yourself. You see that nice-looking piece of meat right there?” He motioned to the patty frying. The aroma made my mouth water.”

“The tip of my finger hooked under the top, and I pulled it slowly to the side, feeling the drag. Lucian grunted, low and protracted, as though the sound could make me go faster. The reaction in my body was a delicious clenching of my sex. I arched into that sound, my lids fluttering as I tugged the top farther over, stopping right at the edge of my nipple. And he jerked, the water sloshing. "Em..." The plea came out in a thick rasp. "Baby..." The muscles along his arms bunched as he gripped the lip of the pool, as though trying to hold himself back.”

“It's tempting. I can see why those Ottomans hide their women. If I could, I might dress you in silk- deep-red silk- and put you away where no other man might see you." She turned her head to glare at him, those dark eyes sparking. "I shouldn't like that." He smiled at her fondly, almost sadly. This woman- why did he want this woman so very much? "I know." He sipped at her lips lightly- so lightly. "And yet, as I say, tempting." He caught her lips with his, widening her mouth, tasting red wine and gravy, apples, and her, all her. Bridget, Séraphine, her. Her. Her. Her.”

“The first thing I see when I get home from the hospital after midnight is the glint of the stainless steel oven in the semidarkness of the kitchen. The air smells sweet and eggy. I walk to the oven and pull open the door. Six white ramekins hold six perfect-looking crème caramels, and I wonder if they're safe to eat. It's been more than three hours since I turned off the oven. I remember a Swedish chef telling me years ago when I worked as a prep cook that unrefrigerated food will keep for four hours, but he also cleaned his fingernails with the tip of his chef's knife, so who knows. I pick up one of the dishes and sniff it. It smells fine. Without taking off my coat, I dig into a drawer for a spoon and eat the crème caramel in five seconds flat. The texture is silky and it tastes sweet and custardy, if not perfect. I pull the rest of the dishes from the oven to put in the fridge, telling myself one was enough. An extra treat at the end of a hard day. I've put three ramekins into the refrigerator when I can't stand it and dig into the second, eating more slowly this time, slipping out of my coat, savoring the custard on my tongue. Two is definitely enough, I'm thinking as I lick the inside of the cup, two is perfect. I'm picking up the remaining cup to put in the fridge but I turn instead, head for the bedroom with ramekin in hand. At least wait until you've gotten undressed and in bed, I told myself, surely you can wait. I make it as far as the doorway and I'm digging my spoon into a third caramel. Don't beat yourself up, I think when I'm done, it's just fake eggs and skim milk, a little sugar. It's for Cooking for Life, for God's sake, it can't be bad for you, but I feel bad somehow as I finish off the third ramekin. Okay, I'm satisfied now, I tell myself, and I can go to sleep. I get undressed , pull on my T-shirt and flannel boxers, head for the bathroom to brush my teeth, but suddenly I'm taking a detour to the kitchen, opening the fridge, staring at the three remaining custards. If I eat just one more, there'll be two left and I can take them to share with Benny tomorrow. That won't be so bad. I pick up the fourth ramekin, close the fridge, and eat as slowly as I can to truly appreciate the flavor. Restaurant desserts are easily as big as four of these little things.”

“You're trying to piss me off, aren't you?" I said, tossing back the words he'd used on me during our first meeting. He grinned wide, the gesture so quick and stunningly beautiful on him made my breath hitch. "It's so easy," he answered, just as I had. "At least make me work for it." "Don't worry; I will." That shut him up in a hurry. His nostrils flared, all that smiling lightness sliding into something darker, something with promise. Heat coiled around my thighs, as an insistent thud strummed between them.”

“The chocolate mass is perfectly silky and stays at the right temperature; it slides, soft and supple, into the molds. Smooth, shiny bars of chocolate, eight millimeters thick; they glisten up at us, dark and inviting: Bite us, taste us, swallow us! Let us melt in your mouth! The promise-laden snap when I break off a piece of happiness is like music, Chocolate Symphony No. 1. I let it rest on my tongue and wait as long as I can to swallow. The taste of the gods in the brownish purple beans fills my mouth until it flows over and spills down my throat.”

“You're a beautiful man," she said a bit bashfully. Her touch sent a thrill of pleasure through him. He had to steel every muscle to keep from arching against her hand. It was indecent, how much he wanted her. In a hushed voice he replied, "'Tis glad I am you find me so, darlin'. But there's nothing in the world half so braw and lovely as you." "Braw?" "Something very fine. You're braw like sunlight on the sea, or a poem set to music.”

“Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Miss Greene?" She nodded, thinking it safe now to face him. "Good," he said, offering her a wicked grin when her eyes lifted to his. "I believe all young women, especially those timid and retiring ones like yourself, should embark on new horizons... try new things, if you will. I undoubtedly approve and, in fact, encourage you to indulge your most wicked fantasies.”

“Scents waft from the kitchen, dancing around the halls to find me and tickle my nose. Warm and comforting and mouthwatering. "Come closer," those scents seem to say. "Come see what we have for you." Come. How can I ignore that? So I don't. I follow the siren's call and find the siren herself at the very center of activity. Delilah moves with utter confidence in her kitchen--- because it is unequivocally hers now. This is a prima ballerina performing a solo. Not a fast-paced, frantic dance, but slow and easy, controlled power in motion. Knowing that she hasn't yet noticed me, I simply watch her work, admiring the curves of her body as she reaches for a spoon to taste a sauce. The pink tip of her tongue flashes as she licks her lush top lip. Something hot and tight clenches low in my gut at the sight. Then she's moving again, adding a spice to her sauce; a flick of her wrist controls the temperature on the stove. My body remembers the feel of hers, the way she cuddled up in my lap for those few mindless minutes. I was surprised enough that she did it. I simply held her, afraid to make any move that might startle her away. She was warm and soft, her tan skin smelling of butter and cinnamon sugar. I wanted to sit there all night and breathe her in. I wanted to let my hands roam over those plump curves and learn each one. It was an act of careful coordination to keep her from noticing just how much she affected me. It was worth the painful dick and the aching gut of lust because in that moment, she felt perfect. She turns back to the center island and the cutting board there and sees me. The loose-limbed ease of her body dies. She's all twitchy now, eyeing me like a feral barn cat as if I might try to lash out and catch her. Tempting.”

“And what if you try to kill me? Or worse: to kiss me?”

“Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.”

“Every failure is a step to success. Every detection of what is false directs us towards what is true: every trial exhausts some tempting form of error. Not only so; but scarcely any attempt is entirely a failure; scarcely any theory, the result of steady thought, is altogether false; no tempting form of Error is without some latent charm derived from Truth.”

“The medieval theologian who gazed at the night sky through the eyes of Aristotle and saw angels moving the spheres in harmony has become the modern cosmologist who gazes at the same sky through the eyes of Einstein and sees the hand of God not in angels but in the constants of nature. When confronted with the order and beauty of the universe and the strange coincidences of nature, it¹s very tempting to take the leap of faith from science into religion. I am sure many physicists want to. I only wish they would admit it.”

“If the only tool you have is a hammer, it's hard to eat spaghetti.”

“Another striding instance is recorded by the very intelligent traveler regarding a representation of the fall of our first parents, sculptured in the magnificent temple of Ipsambul in Nubia. He says that a very exact representation of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden is to be seen in that cave, and that the serpent climbing round the tree is especially delineated, and the whole subject of the tempting of our first parents most accurately exhibited.”

“The future is always fairyland to the young. Life is like a beautiful and winding lane, on either side bright flowers, and beautiful butterflies and tempting fruits, which we scarcely pause to admire and to taste, so eager are we to hasten to an opening which we imagine will be more beautiful still. But by degrees, as we advance, the trees grow bleak; the flowers and butterflies fail, the fruits disappear, and we find we have arrived--to reach a desert waste.”

“Once you understand the power of stimulus control, you can use it to your advantage by changing the stimuli in your environment and avoiding undesirable ones; or, if that's not possible, by filling your consciousness with thoughts about their less tempting aspects.”

“No doubt other writers have often put a thing more brilliantly, more subtly than even a very cunning artist in words can hope to emulate, a supreme phrase being a bit of luck that only happens now and then. And inasmuch as the condiments and secret travail of human nature are always the same, and that certain psychological moments must ever and ever recur, what more tempting than to pin down such a moment with the blow of a borrowed hammer?”

“Although it is tempting to imagine an ancient era innocent of biochemical weaponry, in fact this Pandora's box of horrors was opened thousands of years ago. The history of making war with biological weapons begins in mythology, in ancient oral traditions that preserved records of actual events and ideas of the era before the invention of written histories.”

“And when it has got in; as one not finding what it seeks, whatever that may be, it wails and howls to issue forth again: and not content with stalking through the aisles, and gliding round and round the pillars, and tempting the deep organ, soars up to the roof, and strives to rend the rafters: then flings itself despairingly upon the stones below, and passes, muttering, into the vaults.”

“But to measure cause and effect... you must ensure that a simple correlation, however tempting it may be, is not mistaken for a cause. In the 1990s the stork population of Germany increased and the German at-home birth rate rose as well. Shall we credit storks for airlifting the babies?”

“The comparison between Coleridge and Johnson is obvious in so far as each held sway chiefly by the power of his tongue. The difference between their methods is so marked that it is tempting, but also unnecessary, to judge one to be inferior to the other. Johnson was robust, combative, and concrete; Coleridge was the opposite. The contrast was perhaps in his mind when he said of Johnson: "his bow-wow manner must have had a good deal to do with the effect produced.”