Every time you have an orgasm an angel comes to life..
Art in order to move you has to be political or sexual - whether it is on canvas, in the drum of the cello, in the words of the poet. If it doesn't move you, what is the point? And if it does move you, what is the point? The point is to touch your se...
Beauty lies between the erotic and the tragic.
Inner beauty is never found in the mirror.
Beauty is a burden as well as a gift. Beauty puts other women on edge. It torments men. Man is born adoring beauty and carries, just below the surface, a predisposition, a gut feeling, that beauty should be profaned and destroyed. The first thing con...
I love book books, real books, books with spines and heart, dust jackets, books that smell of books. Take the frame from a painting and you have a painting, not art. Take the pages from a book and print them on a screen and you have the ghost of a bo...
Life is a long road with lots of junctions and every time you chose to go one way, you may just have easily have gone the other. We don't make choices so much as choices are made like a new fashion we slip into without realising.
It is in the nest of disappointment where depression lays its eggs.
Drama copies life in there being a sense of waiting, of a promise never fulfilled.
A rubber doll with a microchip can imitate human flesh without human feeling. Porn leaves an emptiness inside. Erotica sets up a vibration in the mind that sends pulsing waves through the body.
The erotic is not about nudity and nudity is rarely erotic. The erotic is subtle, a feeling, a gesture, a mood, a story frozen in the moment that holds you breathless waiting for the next moment. Understand this, and you understand the erotic.
There is a kind of truth in a well-told lie. When we look back, we don't see things as they were but how we would like them to have been.
The hardest thing in the world is to be original. It seems like our heads are filled with banalities and clichés. You have to keep digging deeper and deeper to try and find a fresh new seam that hasn't been explored.
Love is possession, a sort of vanity.
You don't feel yourself falling in love, like it's a journey, a process; on the contrary, it hits you like a sudden ague, a fever, the realisation that your life will never be the same again.
An attractive woman becomes beautiful when she's happy and in love.
Love is the colour of spring sunshine muted through old windows. Love has a taste, a texture - dark chocolate with pistachios; a sound - wind chimes echoing from a distant hill; a rhythm - the tango, obviously.
Falling in love is like falling from a high cliff into a warm silky sea, the falling is like flying and the landing is like a glimpse of the divine.
