The thought of youbeing with someone else isliterally killing me.And you couldn’t care less. BecauseI am just one of the writhing bodiesthat ruined your bed sheets.

You know, I never imagined there were he-dryads. Not even in an oak tree."One of the giants grinned at him.Druellae snorted. "Stupid! Where do you think acorns come from?

Some scientists hypothesize that having children is the only reason romantic love came about. It kept couples together long enough to mate and see a baby through infancy.

I don’t like sleeping, but I do like watching the inside of my eyelids. That’s how I drive, and that’s how I make love. Honk when you’re finished.

The sign outside of the prison said, “Free Johnson,” and I said, “Why would anybody want dick for free?” What kind of lover would that make?


Before the dick, I had my shit together. I had goals, dreams, and aspirations. But after the dick, I was lost, turned out all over again, and needed Iyanla to fix my life.

You love that, don't you?" I growled. "Being hammered by my cock... you must think you're in... fucking... heaven."Punctuation by cock thrust - the very best kind.

Me? You are laughing at me. Put your hand here. This has no theology.' I mocked myself while I made love. I flung myself into pleasure like a suicide on to a pavement.

A nation's not a child, for God's sake. ... It's like a wild horse you tame by breaking it. Or a fiery woman you slap till she sees sense and warms your bed.

I saw some kids at an elementary school, and I thought, I wonder if those kids are mine? Any of them—or all of them. It’s possible, because I love making love.

People who concern themselves with the rights of other adults who engage in consensual acts involving sex, love, and/or eating croissants together are damaged and in pain.

You don't find the concept of illicit love at all engaging?”“The concept, maybe. But in literature? That's like ordering a glass of tap water at a bar.

A car's not the right place for showing off to a girl—the bed's the place for that. The consequences of a mistake there are more upsetting, but less tragic.

Glorious sex that poets write about and that angels blow their trumpets over absolutely requires the participants to be fully engaged and fully witnessing the entire event!

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn't try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.