Chase asks her what time the appointment is booked for. Rachel says, "It's at 11:30 or midnight. He's supposed to call to confirm." She checks her cell. "But I want to be there early." she says."Why?""Just to be on the safe side.""There isn't one, Rachel.
Sometimes we can't see the relevance of Jesus Christ until we become dissatisfied with the world and realise that there must be more to life than working 9 to 5, buying and accumulating expensive 'things'and being attractive to members of the opposite sex.
Sex. It's the biggest sham of all. I mean, your life, all you ever hear is how you're supposed to save yourself for marriage. And how its so special. And then you finally do it. And you're like, "that it'? This is what everyone's been raving about?
Maybe that was why the French called orgasms “las petites morts”: because the things that bring us passion tend to slip past our defenses, to creep insidiously into every facet of our consciousnesses and kill us as ruthlessly, and efficiently, as any drug.
Working in a hotel is the anti-coffee shop, because instead of it being a place that’ll wake you up, it’s a place to sleep. And it’s a place to have sex, which is something Starbucks frowns upon (though I’ve never seen anyone frown during sex).
You know, I'm not even sure how we ended up living together.""I am," Jake said, turning back to the lake. "Sex. It's a powerful force, my boy, and women use it.""Is that why you gave them up?" Will asked, sympathetically. "Did paranoia drive you to celibacy?
To feel physically comfortable with someone else's body is not a decision you make. It has very little thing to do with how two people think or act or talk or even look. The mysterious magnet is either there, buried somewhere deep behind the sternum, or it is not.
Man has imagined a heaven, and has left entirely out of it the supremest of all his delights...sexual intercourse!...His heaven is like himself: strange, interesting, astonishing, grotesque. I give you my word, it has not a single feature in it that he actually values.
And her delicacy offended. Who wants a delicate whore! Claude would even ask you to turn your face away when she squatted over the bidet. All wrong! A man, when he's burning up with passion, wants to see things; he wants to see everything, even how they make water.
Coveralls," I reply, and I know I'm no longer screening what's coming out of my mouth.He raises a eyebrow, amused yet again. "You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans."I could always take them off." He smirks.
I have a bad habit of dropping verbal pellets to get a reaction, like Ursula LeGuin’s “A novelist’s business is lying” (that particular one got a lot of attention on Facebook), or, “Why is it that Christians hate the word ‘sex’?
Sex to a woman can be like a bad emotion or imbalanced hormones, if you can't get a handle on it, it'll have you walking around mixed up and messed up, happy one moment and inthe next plotting to kill somebody--value ypur goodies and know who you giving them to.
On to some juicy French philosophical sex-killing murder-suicide cannibal thing. You?”“Still the controversial Hungarian breast-cancer radioactive seed implant treatment thing. I adore you.”“Je t’adore aussi. Call me. Bye.”“Bye.
The wild women in his lap,' my father enthused, 'laying their breasts on his head.'There was a moment of stunned silence. Then my mother spoke slowly, with an edge to her voice. 'I think you mean "wild beasts laying their heads in his lap".''Do I?
I had a dream about you. I walked by and you whistled like I was a piece of meat. And I was a piece of meat—I was a thin slice of ham. You were two pieces of bread, so we made love like most mothers make lunch for their kids. That sounded dirtier than it really was.
