sealegs

My life, my fault, lies not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.
— Jack Kerouac

Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.
— Anais Nin

Among my most prized possessions are words that I have never spoken.
— Orson Scott Card

When you think about fucking me and I know you do, how do you picture it doctor? Oh I know you can’t answer it so just think it. Do you want it straight up? You on top? Me on top? You want it.. from behind? On your knees, my face on the pillow? Do you wanna beat me up? Just a little. Not too hard, oh a little harder than that. Wanna cum in my mouth? What if I told you that I masturbate thinking about you, that I make myself come thinking about you.. making yourself come.
— Catherine Tramell, Basic Instinct 2

Desire is of medium height. It is unlikely that any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to see her (or him) is to love him (or her), – passionately, painfully, to the exclusion of all else. Desire smells almost subliminally of summer peaches, and casts two shadows: one black & sharp-edged. the other translucent and forever wavering, like heat haze. Desire smiles in brief flashes, like sunlight glinting from a knife-edge. And there is much else that is knife-like about Desire. Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have every wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything.
— The Sandman Vol. IV: Season of Mists, Neil Gaiman.