The sun is a flower, and it burns my goddamn nostrils like the scent of love, which I haven’t tasted since I put on my midnight-black blindfold. I’m just naturally romantic, I guess.
If love tasted like pork, and you were allergic to Francis Bacon, could I be your Shakespeare? We could make love on a pizza and make much ado about nothing, everything, anything, something.
What would you do if I kissed you right now?" I stared at his beautiful face and his beautiful mouth and I wanted nothing more than to taste it. "I would kiss you back.
She was pure indulgence. Hot, liquid sin. That last piece of delectable chocolate cake you knew you should walk away from, but if you didn't have at least one more taste, life wouldn't be worth living.
...[M]y inner self moved; my spirit shook its always-fettered wings half loose. I had a sudden feeling as if I, who never yet truly lived, were at last about to taste life.
I’m the only one who gets to kiss that sexy mouth of yours....The only one who gets to taste between your legs. And I’m the only one who gets to bury himself inside you...and make you come.
Your dreamers. You ridiculous children. You dancing grinning fuckups. Here is your bright future. Your earnest, saccharine hope. How does it taste dripping from the neck of everyone you love?
The stratagems by which briefly you ameliorated, even seemingly untwisted what still twists within you — you loved their taste and lay there on your side nursing like a puppy.
Now the only thing I miss about sex is the cigarette afterward. Next to the first one in the morning, it's the best one of all. It tasted so good that even if I had been frigid I would have pretended otherwise just to be able to smoke it.
Oh, Alice, you haven’t even had a taste of my romantic streak yet. And when the time’s right I don’t think I’ll have to ‘try’ to have my way with you. I just WILL.
Father lied. The knowledge tasted bitter on her tongue. She folded the orb into a scarf she’d brought. It didn’t conceal its light, but it was better than carrying the orb through the halls exposed.
Whether I'm making a recipe or a piece of jewelry or a white-rose-and-jasmine tea or the perfume, I like to think of myself as a happy little sorceress, and if I could just have a little general store with all that stuff and give people a sense of my...
Give us this day our daily taste. Restore to us soups that spoons will not sink in and sauces which are never the same twice. Raise up among us stews with more gravy than we have bread to blot it with Give us pasta with a hundred fillings.
The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us the less taste we shall have for the destruction of our race. Wonder and humility are wholesome emotions, and they do not exist side by side with a lust...
I had an early taste of fame. I was 20, going out with TV presenter Dani Behr and we'd have paparazzi chasing us. I'm not comfortable being photographed, though I accept it is part of the job. I had to ask myself, 'What comes first, being a celebrity...
I just wanted to give them the 'Lost Jewelry' so they can say, 'Yo, they get that's mean.' And then when I tell 'em, 'Yo, that ain't even the meal. Get ready for the meal!' That's when we 'bout to go crazy because the taste of the appetizer.
I'm trying to tell him everything will be all right, but how can I say it with a straight face? My son's no idiot. He knows when I'm lying. The medicine won't taste bad. The bath is not hot. Daddy will be safe. Lies.
Life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
First you have nothing, and then, astonishingly, after ripping out your brain and your heart and betraying your friends and ex-lovers and dreaming like a zombie over the page till you can't see or hear or smell or taste, you have something.
If you're dining with someone who wants the same cut, it's always better to get a 16-ounce steak and split it than to order two eight-ounce steaks. The longer something cooks, the more flavor it develops, so you'll get a better taste with a bigger pi...
Even the most impassioned devotee of the ghost story would admit that the taste for it is slightly abnormal, a survival, perhaps, from adolescence, a disease of deficiency suffered by those whose lives and imaginations do not react satisfactorily to ...
