Want To Taste You Quotes

Have ye no good points?" said Wee Mad Arthur desperately. Rob Anybody looked puzzled. "We kind of thought them is our good points, but if you want to get picky, we never steal from them as has nae money, we has hearts of gold, although maybe - okay, mostly - somebody else's gold, and we did invent the deep-fried stoat. That must count for something." "How is that a good point?" said Arthur. "Weel, it saves some other poor devil having tae do it. It's what ye might call a taste explosion; ye take a mouthful, taste it, and then there is an explosion." Despite himself, Wee Mad Arthur was grinning. "Have you boys got no shame?" Rob Anybody matched him grin for grin. "I couldna say," he replied, "but if we have, it probably belonged tae somebody else. ~ Terry Pratchett

I want to kiss you," I tell her. I want to so bad. I can almost taste her. Her breath on my lips isn't enough anymore. If anything, it makes me feel more deprived. More starved.- Kyle. ~ A.J. Summer

Queen Alyss, my guards have discovered something you should see."
Her face had relaxed at the sight of him, but her brow at once contracted, her lips thinned with tension.
We've found evidence of suspicious activity in the palace," he said.
What sort of activity?"
You might want to step this way and see for youself. I apologize in advance for you having to set foot in a gaurdsman's quaters."
He led her into his rooms. The boyish portrait of Sir Justice, the fire crystals in the hearth, the elegantly arrayed table: Alyss blinked in puzzlement.
What is all this?"
My best guess, You Majesty, is that it's breakfast, but I can't be sure until we taste it. ~ Frank Beddor

We've been to hell and back, and I love you more for every single step of that journey. I only hope you feel half of what I feel when you look at me, when you love me, or when you laugh with me. The world stops for me - time stands still - when I put my arms around you. I love that feeling, and I love that I've only ever felt that way with you. I want to be the first thing you touch in the morning and the last thing you taste at night before you dream. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Had. . . . I want to stop wasting that precious time. Will you marry me? ~ K. Bromberg

Set foot in his classroom, and you'll see that he hasn't quite given up on these dreams. True to his compulsive nature and eclectic taste, he punctuates his courses with entertaining routines to keep his students engaged, playing four songs at the start of each class and tossing candy bars to the first students who shout out the correct answers to music trivia. This is how a poster of a rapper ended up on his wall. "If you want to engage your audience, if you really want to grab their attention, you have to know the world they live in, the music they listen to, the movies they watch," he explains. "To most of these kids, accounting is like a root canal. But when they hear me quote Usher or Cee Lo Green, they say to themselves, 'Whoa, did that fat old white-haired guy just say what I thought he said?' And then you've got 'em. ~ Adam M. Grant

This is it, Beck. This is the hardest part of loving someone: not being with them when you want to be. It's so bad you can taste it. ~ Debra Anastasia

Everybody's got a Hole. Ain't nobody ever lived who don't got a Hole in them somewheres. When I say Hole you know what I'm talking about, dontcha? Soft spot, sweet spot, opening, blind spot, Itch, Gap, call it what you want but I call it a Hole. To get the best of a situation you gotta know a man's Hole. Everybody's got one, just don't everybody got one in the same place.

Some got a Hole in they head. Now, you may think "Hole in the head" is just another way of saying stupid, but "Hole in the head" means more than that. It means they got a lack and a craving for knowledge. Not just the lack, now, but the craving too. A man could have a Hole just about anywheres: in the head, in the wallet (which means he burns his money), in the pocket (which means he don't got no money to burn but would like some), in the pants, in the guts, in the stomach, in the heart. You offer a person with a Hole in the head some knowledge and they gonna be in yr pocket cause you done gived him the opportunity to taste what he craves, but if a person's got a Hole in they heart and you offer them knowledge, you won't be able to sway them none. A Hole-in-the-heart person craves company and kindness, not no book. ~ Suzan-Lori Parks

Death was more like what we went through in the park: two people walking side by side in the mist, rubbing against trees and bushes, and not a word between them. It was something emptier than the name itself and yet right and peaceful, dignified, if you like. It was not a continuation of life, but a leap in the dark and no possibility of ever coming back, not even as a grain of dust. And that was right and beautiful, I said to myself, because why would one want to come back. To taste it once is to taste it forever - life or death. Whichever way the coin flips is right, so long as you hold no stakes. Sure, it's tough to choke on your own spittle - it's disagreeable more than anything else. And besides, one doesn't always die choking to death. Sometimes one goes off in his sleep, peaceful and quiet as a lamb. The Lord comes and gathers you up into the fold, as they say. Anyway, you stop breathing. And why the hell should one want to go on breathing forever? Anything that would have to be done interminably would be torture. The poor human bastards that we are, we ought to be glad that somebody devised a way out. We don't quibble about going to sleep. A third of our lives we snore away like drunken rats. What about that? Is that tragic? Well then, say three-thirds of drunken rat-like sleep. Jesus, if we had any sense we'd be dancing with glee at the thought of it! We could all die in bed tomorrow, without pain, without suffering - if we had the sense to take advantage of our reme ~ Henry Miller

How can death become joyous? How can death become happiness? When Al-Hussein asked his nephew Al-Qassem, when he had not yet reached puberty: 'How do you like the taste of death, son?' He answered that it was sweeter than honey. How can the foul taste of death become sweeter than honey? Only through conviction, ideology, and faith, through belief, and devotion ... We do not want to ... leave our homeland to Israel ... Therefore, we are not interested in our own personal security. On the contrary, each of us lives his days and nights hoping more than anything to be killed for the sake of Allah. ~ Hassan Nasrallah

Something More Fragile Than This"

Quick
before our bodies turn themselves in,
with a reverence reserved for the dead touch me
because I want to remember how beautiful I am.
While Spring snows around us, cracking her eggs
on our windows, in her meager dress of yellowing-white,
because I want to rise into today.

So why the urge to render something
more fragile than this?
Why, always, the soul blowing glass?
The soul, once again, filling the lungs
with smoke because a memory of regret sweats
in the plastic sleeve of a family
album. Because there's a snapshot caught
between the pages of some thick book:
my heavy 20 year old frame setting off
the 60lb weight of a dying mother. Because
somewhere, there's a negative slide
of my heart. Because and because and because
I'm sure there's a photo
in some drawer that shows me dressed in black.

But I want to devote myself to the mystery
of this afternoon. I want to honor this falling night, worship the
hour vanishing
between six and seven. This moment
where I'm standing against myself and against you with a taste in my mouth
that's yolk.

With Bob Marley taking that one long drag
on the refrigerator door. ~ Olena Kalytiak Davis

An Englishman will take you into a large room, beautifully proportioned, and will point out to you that it is white- all over white- and somebody will say what exquisite taste. You know in your own mind, in your own soul, that it is not taste at allthat is the want of tastethat is mere evasion. English music is white and evades everything. ~ Edward Elgar

With a palate as unrefined as mine I can't taste any difference between this French food and what we had at that sleazy bar I got into trouble for inviting you to. To someone like me, they taste equally good. I know you disdain me for that. But the truth is, I take pride in that very fact, and I disdain you for disdaining me. I wonder if you take my point. Think about it in this regard: Which of us is constrained and which of us is free? Which is happy and which feels his hands are tied? Which is tranquil and which one wavers? As I see it, you're always unsteady on your legs. You can't find your courage. You'll go to any length to avoid what displeases you, and you gallop after whatever you want. And why is that? There is no why; it's because you're free to. You enjoy the luxury of picking and choosing because you have the latitude. ~ Natsume Sōseki

Here in England there's a glass wall between you and the taste of reality. I don't want to see the last true passion tamed by railways, and men with Bibles telling everyone to cover their bodies." He spread his powerful, elegant hands. "Play your string quintets, by all means, Mr. Narraway, but don't silence the drums simply because you don't understand them. The men who play violins have steel and gunpowder, and the men who play drums don't. ~ Anne Perry

LEADING LESSONS
Criticism can be useful.

I've taken a beating from the DWTS judges on many occasions. Most of the time, because I'm always aware of the cameras in my face, I just suck it up and take it. Here's the thing: I realize that maybe they're seeing something I'm not. Sometimes you're too close to a situation, too connected to it, to be 100 percent honest with yourself. Or your ego gets in the way and won't let you improve, because that would mean changing course and admitting you were wrong. I tell my partners to listen carefully when Len, Carrie Ann, or Bruno has a constructive criticism for us. Yes, sometimes it boils down to taste and opinion (and I don't always agree), but often it's a valid point. They want us to succeed. The way I see it, you have lots of choices on how to handle it: the first is to lose your temper, get defensive, and spend the rest of the night beating yourself up about it. The second--a natural reaction for most people--is to mentally shut down when someone points out your flaws. Who wants to hear that? Let me just drown it out and ignore it. The third option is your best: keep your mind and your ears open. You can learn about your weaknesses and how you can improve them. A leader is never scared of criticism, but instead knows there is always room to grow and improve. So bring it on. ~ Derek Hough

It is as hard to explain how this sunlit land was different from the old Narnia as it would be to tell you how the fruits of that country taste. Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different - deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more. ~ C.S. Lewis

It started embarrassing me. I began to feel like such a nasty little egomaniac." She reflected. "I don't know. It seemed like such poor taste, sort of, to want to act in the first place. I mean all the ego. And I used to hate myself so, when I was in a play, to be backstage after the play was over. All those egos running around feeling terribly charitable and warm. Kissing everybody and wearing their makeup all over the place, and then trying to be horribly natural and friendly when your friends came backstage to see you. I just hated myself. ~ J.D. Salinger

There is a wholeness about a woman, of shape, and sound, and colour, and taste, and smell, a quietness that is her, that you will want to hold tightly to you, all, every little bit, without words, in peace, for jealousy for the things that escape the clumsiness of your arms. So you feel when you love.
... For her womaness is a blessing about her, and you are tender to put your hands upon her and kiss, not with lust, but with the joy of one returning to a lost one. ~ Richard Llewellyn

She didn't want to be empty, didn't want to vanish. She wanted to be whole.
She said, "I want to remember you."
An emotion flared in his face. He braced her hips, tugged her closer. His lids were heavy, eyes dark. His mouth was a wet gleam. She didn't recognize his expression. It was new. She leaned in and drank the newness of him.
Their kiss turned savage. She made it so. She felt his teeth, reveled in the sure knowledge that it had never been like this between them. Yet at the same time, she felt each kiss they'd shared before, felt them live inside this one. His mouth left hers, rasping down her neck. He buried his face in her skin.
She sought his mouth and found that he tasted different now. She was tasting the taste of her skin on his mouth. Coppery. She dipped her tongue into it again.
"Kestrel."
She didn't answer him.
"This is a bad idea."
"No," she said. "It isn't."
He pulled away, closed his eyes, and dropped his head to press his brow against her belly. She felt rich with the words he muttered against her nightdress. His mouth burned through the cloth.
His chair scraped back. He no longer touched her. "Not like this."
"Yes. Exactly like this." She tried to find the words to express how this helped, how he somehow mapped the country of herself, showed the ridges, the rise and valley of her very being.
"Kestrel, I think that you're…using me a little."
She stopped, unpleasantly startled. It occurred to he ~ Marie Rutkoski

With you, I want it all. If I get a taste of what it could be, I won't ever want to let it go. I fell in love with you when I was sixteen, and that's never changed. But trusting you with my heart again is different. With you, I need to know it's forever. ~ Abbi Glines

Of course there are urged that I fight against, but none stronger than the urge to hear your voice, touch your face, or now you are near. I will never want anything as much as I want you. Nothing in this world could taste better than your kiss. -Kale ~ Inger Iversen

Bitterness is what happens when we view the things we want which we don't have. Those harbouring bitterness in their hearts have the tendency to alienate themselves from those things that cause the bitter taste. Which is why bitterness never works. Because in order to acheive that which we want but don't have, we need to be putting ourselves in that river, in those rivers, and flowing in them. Bitterness is an anchor that denies you the right to flow in, and towards, the things that you really wish you had. Grace of the Soul is what empowers you with the ability to be joyful for the ones who have what you don't yet have. Grace of Soul is the canoe helping you to flow with and in those rivers. ~ C. JoyBell C.

Before we do what?' she asks hesitantly.
Before we do what we both want to do. Before I lean in one more inch. And before you part your lips for me just enough for me to steal a taste. Before I put my hands and your hips and back you up until you have nowhere to go but onto your bed. ~ Colleen Hoover

You know," OreSeur muttered quietly, obviously counting on her tin to let Vin hear him, "it seems that these meetings would be more productive if someone forgot to invite those two."
Vin smiled. "They're not that bad," she whispered.
OreSeur raised an eyebrow.
"Okay," Vin said. "They do distract us a little bit."
"I could always eat on of them, if you wish," OreSeur said. "That might speed things up."
Vin paused.
OreSeur, however had a strange little smile on his lips. "Kandra humor, Mistress. I apologize. We can be a bit grim."
Vin smiled. "They probably wouldn't taste very good anyway. Ham's far too stringy, and you don't want to know the kinds of things that Breeze spends his time eating…."
"I'm not sure," OreSeur said. "One is, after all, named 'Ham.' As for the other…" He nodded to the cup of wine in Breeze's hand. "He does seem quite fond of marinating himself. ~ Brandon Sanderson

Our lips met and parted, and his tongue
slid deep to taste me. The sounds from the peanut gallery - choking and retching - and the tug on my robe instantly drained the heat from the encounter.
"That's disgusting," Kola assured me with a glare that a six-year-old shouldn't have had.
"Why?" I asked snidely.
"Your mouth has germs," he informed me haughtily. "That's why you told Hannah not to lick Chilly."
"No, I told her not to lick Chilly because the cat doesn't like to be
licked by her."
"He licks his body."
"He does," Hannah, our four-year-old, agreed with a nod. "Kola's right."
"But he doesn't want you to do it," I assured my daughter.
"How do you know?" Kola questioned.
I had to think.
Kola waited, squinting at me.
"Do not lick the cat! Nobody licks the cat!" Sam ordered when the silence stretched for too long. ~ Mary Calmes

I understand that you don't want to marry me," I said. "I mean, I don't know why, since I'm simply delightful to be around. But to each his own taste. ~ Merrie Haskell

it is natural to want to employ your friends when you find yourself in times of need. The world is a harsh place, and your friends soften the harshness. Besides, you know them. Why depend on a stranger when you have a friend at hand?

The problem is that you often do not know your friends as well as you imagine. Friends often agree on things in order to avoid an argument. They cover up their unpleasant qualities so as not offend each other. They laugh extra hard at each others jokes. Since honesty rarely strengthens friendship, you may never know how a friend truly feels. Friends will say they love your poetry, adore your music, envy your taste in clothes - maybe they mean, often they do not. ~ Robert Greene

i will tell you about selfish people. even when they know they will hurt you they walk into your life to taste you because you are the type of being they don't want to miss out on. you are too much shine to not be felt. so when they have gotten a good look at everything you have to offer. when they have taken your skin your hair and your secrets with them. when they realize how real this is. how much of a storm you are and it hits them.

that is when the cowardice sets in. that is when the person you thought they were is replaced by the sad reality of what they are. that is when they lose every fighting bone in their body and leave after saying you will find better than me.

you will stand there naked with half of them still hidden somewhere inside you and sob. asking them why they did it. why they forced you to love them when they had no intention of loving you back and they'll say something along the lines of i just had to try. i had to give it a chance. it was you after all.

but that isn't romantic. it isn't sweet. the idea that they were so engulfed by your existence they had to risk breaking it for the sake of knowing they weren't the one missing out. your existence meant that little next to their curiosity of you. ~ Rupi Kaur

Slowly counting down the days
Till I finally know your name
The way your hand feels round my waist
The way you laugh, the way your kisses taste
I missed you but I haven't met you
Oh but I want to
How I do ~ The Civil Wars

Wallingford vaulted up from his chair. "You've come here so that I can mollify you and share in your belittling of Anais? Well, you've knocked on the wrong bloody door, Raeburn, because I will not join you in disparaging Anais. I will not! Not when I know what sort of woman she is - she is better than either of us deserves. Damn you, I know what she means to you. I know how you've suffered. You want her and you're going to let a mistake ruin what you told me only months ago you would die for. Ask yourself if it is worth it. Is your pride worth all the pain you will make your heart suffer through? Christ," Wallingford growled, "if I had a woman who was willing to overlook everything I'd done in my life,
every wrong deed I had done to her or others, I would be choking back my pride so damn fast I wouldn't even taste it."
Lindsay glared at Wallingford, galled by the fact his friend - the one person on earth he believed would understand his feelings - kept chastising him for his anger, which, he believed, was natural and just.
"If I had someone like Anais in my life," Wallingford continued, blithely ignoring Lindsay's glares, "I would ride back to Bewdley with my tail between my legs and I would do whatever I had to do in order to get her back."
"You're a goddamned liar! You've never been anything but a selfish prick!" Lindsay thundered. "What woman would you deign to lower yourself in front of? What woman could you imagine doing anything more to than fucking ~ Charlotte Featherstone

Robb glanced over the side of the crate to see for himself.
The headless android twitched and began to rise. If he believed in the Moon Goddess, he'd be praying right now. He'd be praying really, really hard.
And he'd be praying something like, Merciful Goddess, if you exist, please hand my ass to me some other day. I don't want to die, I haven't kissed Jax yet.
That last revelation sent a cold chill down his spine.
He wanted to KISS JAX. He wanted to taste the starlight on his skin and press his lips against the cool curve of his collarbone-- ~ Ashley Poston

Dorian Fairchester Faddington IV was a promiscuous poetaster of whom even his best friends declared that he "went from bed to verse." Though he was sexually omnivorous and on occasion preferred camels, like nine out of ten doctors, ordinarily his taste ran to women. Hermione Fingerforth was a woman-or so she liked to assume-and whenever she ran into Dorian it was not long before their lips met in a succession of interesting poses.

"The skin is the largest organ of the body," she once nonchalantly remarked to him as they were sunbathing in the nude together on the terrace of her penthouse in Flatbush.

"Speak for yourself," he declared, leaping on top of her in a sudden paroxysm of passion.

"Out, out of my damned twat!" she yelled, pushing him away and shielding her much-vaunted virginity with a silver-foil sun reflector.

"I take it you want me to reflect on what I'm doing," he quipped.

"Jesus Christ," she said crossly, "men are only interested in women in spurts. ~ Erica Jong

You've changed me. I want to be the favorite taste that touches your lips. ~ Amy A. Bartol

All of this could fall flat, feel too much like a caricature of a Sicilian trattoria, if the food itself weren't so damn good: arancini, saffron-scented rice fried into crunchy, greaseless golf balls; polpette di pesce spada, swordfish meatballs with a taste so deep and savory they might as well be made of dry-aged beef; and a superlative version of caponata di melanzane, that ubiquitous Sicilian starter of eggplant, capers, and various other vegetation, stewed into a sweet and savory jam that you will want to smear on everything. Everything around you screams Italy, but those flavors on the end of the fork? The sweet-and-sour tandem, the stain of saffron, the grains of rice: pure Africa.
The pasta: even better. Chewy noodles tinted jet black with squid ink and tossed with sautéed rings and crispy legs of calamari- a sort of nose-to-tail homage to the island's cherished cephalopod. And Palermo's most famous dish, pasta con le sarde, a bulge of thick spaghetti strewn with wild fennel, capers, raisins, and, most critically, a half dozen plump sardines slow cooked until they melt into a briny ocean ragù. Sweet, salty, fatty, funky- Palermo in a single bite. ~ Matt Goulding

My hands look terrible but I can do anything I want to do, so, you know, I just think I'm playing all around with more good taste and not dashing up and down the piano. ~ Marian McPartland

The final awakening is the embracing of the darkness into the light. That means embracing our humanity as well as our divinity. What we go from is being born into our humanity, sleep walking for a long time, until we awaken and start to taste our divinity. And then want to finally get free.
We see as long as we grab at our divinity and push away our humanity we aren't free. If you want to be free, you can't push away anything. You have to embrace it all. It's all God. ~ Ram Dass

Sometimes, you just want
something so bad you have to lie about it,
so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute,
how real hunger has a real taste. ~ Ada Limon

I want to taste you all the time, Mia. I want the flavor of you on my tongue every fucking minute of the day. And you know it. You shouldn't tease me by telling me you're not wearing panties when I can't have my mouth on you. ~ Melanie Harlow

I started getting Mal's texts just before lunch.
Mal: Awake
Anne: Morning
Mal: Going for a run with Jim
Anne: Have fun!
Mal: Back from run having lunch
...
Mal:Your taste in music sucks
Anne: Thanks
Mal: Seriously, we need to talk it's that bad. Everything apart from Stage Dive needs to go.
Anne: Wait. What are you doing?
Mal:Fixing it.
Anne: Mal, WTH are you doing?
Mal: Making you new playlist wih decent shit. Relay
Anne: K Thanks
Mal: Bored again
Mal: Ben's coming over to play Halo
Anne: Great! But you don't have to tell me everything you do, Mal
Mal: Davie says communication's important
Mal: When are you on the rag? Davie said to find out if you want cupcakes or ice cream
Anne: I want to not talk about this ever
Mal: Bored. Ben's late
Mal: Let's get a dog
Anne: Apartment has no pets rule
Mal: Nice green lace bra
Anne: Get out of my drawers, Mal.
Mal: Matching panties?
Anne: GET OUT NOW.
Mal: :)
Mal: sext me
Mal: Some on it'll be funny
Mal: Plz?
Mal: High level of unhealthy codependency traits exhibited by both parties relationship possibly bordeing on toxic
Anne: WTF?
Mal: Did magazine quiz. We need help- Especially you
Anne:...
Mal: Booking us couples counseling. Tues 4:15 alright?
Anne: We are not going to counseling.
Mal: What's wrong? Don't you love me anymore?
Anne: Turning ph ~ Kylie Scott

Life wants you to touch, taste and see the grandeur of the world's unfathomable variety. ~ Bryant McGill

For the next week, every day, listen to the words of your friends or colleagues. Try to hear what others communicate as a need or want. Your goal is to begin to give to others out of things that you already have in your possession. They may just need to borrow something, or you may choose to give them a gift with no strings attached. Listen to statements like this: "I really need _______." "I could really use a _______." "I have been wanting to get ______." Try to think about everyday things in your home that you could give to make a friend's life easier and your life simpler. Match something you have in your possession with a need of a friend. No strings attached. Just let it go. Give it away. Be generous. Give something larger than usual. You will be amazed how others will respond positively and with surprise. Get a taste of what it feels like to give out of your excess this week. ~ Jeff Shinabarger

I walk outside and the green on the trees seems greener, so potent I can almost taste it. Maybe I can taste it, and it is like the grass I decided to chew when I was a child just to see what it was like. I almost fall down the stairs because of the swaying and burst into laughter when the grass tickles my bare feet. I wander toward the orchard.
"Four!" I call out. Why am I calling out a number? Oh yes. Because that's his name. I call out again. "Four! Where are you?"
"Tris?" says a voice from the trees on my right. It almost sounds like the tree is talking to me. I giggle, but of course it's just Tobias, ducking under a branch.
I run toward him, and the ground lurches to the side, so I almost fall. His hand touches my waist, steadies me. The touch sends a shock through my body, and all my insides burn like his fingers ignited them. I pull closer to him, pressing my body against his, and lift my head to kiss him.
"What did they--" he starts, but I stop him with my lips. He kisses me back, but too quickly, so I sigh heavily.
"That was lame," I say. "Okay, no it wasn't, but…"
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again, and he presses his finger to my lips to stop me.
"Tris," he says. "What did they do to you? You're acting like a lunatic."
"That's not very nice of you to say," I say. "They put me in a good mood, that's all. And now I really want to kiss you, so if you could just relax--"
"I'm not going to kiss you. I'm going to figure ou ~ Veronica Roth

Stopping just short of her mouth, he rasped, "Are you still engaged to Blakeborough?"
Her gorgeous eyes narrowed. "My engagement didn't stop you last night."
"It would now."
A coy smile broke over her lips, and she tightened her grip on his neck. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I am not."
With a growl of triumph, he kissed her once more. She was here. She was his. Nothing else mattered.
Still kissing her, he jerked both sets of curtains closed. Then he tugged her onto his lap and began to tear at the fastenings of her pelisse-dress. He wanted to touch her, taste her…be inside her. He could think of naught else.
"I take it that you mean to seduce me," she murmured between kisses.
"Yes." Seduce her and marry her. And then seduce her again, as often as he could.
"Well then, carry on."
So he did. He unfastened her clothes just enough to bare her breasts, then seized one in his mouth. God, she was perfect. His perfect jewel.
She buried her hands in his hair to pull her into him, sighing and moaning as if she would die if he didn't make love to her. Which was exactly how he felt.
Working his hand up beneath her skirts and into the slit in her drawers, he found her so wet and hot that he nearly came right there. He slipped a finger inside her silky sweetness, and she gasped, then began to tug at his trouser buttons.
"You're all I want, Jane." As he stroked her, he used his other hand to brush hers away so he could unfaste ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I'm mad at you - at myself. I'm so angry, I can taste it. I want to find Blake and rearrange parts of his body. But do you know what I thought about all day yesterday? All night? The one single thing I couldn't escape, no matter how pissed off I am at you? "
"No," I whispered.
"That I'm lucky, because the person I can't get out of my head, the person who means more to me than I can stand, is still alive. She's still here. And that's you. ~ Jennifer L. Armentrout

And therefore, all of those for whom authentic transformation has deeply unseated their souls must, I believe, wrestle with the profound moral obligation to shout form the heart - perhaps quietly and gently, with tears of reluctance; perhaps with fierce fire and angry wisdom; perhaps with slow and careful analysis; perhaps by unshakable public example - but authentically always and absolutely carries a a demand and duty: you must speak out, to the best of your ability, and shake the spiritual tree, and shine your headlights into the eyes of the complacent. You must let that radical realization rumble through your veins and rattle those around you.
Alas, if you fail to do so, you are betraying your own authenticity. You are hiding your true estate. You don't want to upset others because you don't want to upset your self. You are acting in bad faith, the taste of a bad infinity.

Because, you see, the alarming fact is that any realization of depth carries a terrible burden: those who are allowed to see are simultaneously saddled with the obligation to communicate that vision in no uncertain terms: that is the bargain. You were allowed to see the truth under the agreement that you would communicate it to others (that is the ultimate meaning of the bodhisattva vow). And therefore, if you have seen, you simply must speak out. Speak out with compassion, or speak out with angry wisdom, or speak out with skillful means, but speak out you must.
And this is truly a ~ Ken Wilber

The thing about all my food is that everything is a remembered flavor. Maybe it's something I had as a child or maybe it's something I had in Milan, but I want it to taste better than you ever thought. ~ Ina Garten

You have no fucking idea, little bit of a thing, so old are you that you know everything? So worldly with the round eyes and the way you see the good in everything, even me. Forget everything you fucking think you know. The second I was inside you people would know, you'd be different, they'd treat you differently, tarred with my fucking ruined brush, all the rumors flying around, people who had once been your friends because they'd know I had hands all over you. I don't fuck like a gentleman, little bit, I fuck like an animal, that stains a little girl like you. You want pretty-fucking-romance, to show off a man to your friends, to go to parties with him on your arm, so fucking meek and boring, that's not me, will never be me. I'm not normal, the wiring is not right in my head, and I'm not for you, walk away before I've had my mouth on that pussy and drank down your honey, because if you don't and I taste you, I feel how it is to shove my cock as deep and as hard as I can inside you, it's all over, you get me? You hearing what I'm telling you? Game over, 'cause I don't play by anyone's rules but my own and my rules are nasty, my rules are fucking filthy. ~ V. Theia

Toxic people systematically destroy others because if they can not bask in the light then no one else deserves to. Lost people suffer in their darkness, happily dragging your light down into their personal hell so you can listen to all their woes. Soulless people, lacking empathy, suck the light from others to taste that which they can never understand. People can't be helped until they want to be helped. You can't be there for others who need you, if any one of these types destroy you. Save yourself ... it's not a sin to love from a distance. ~ L.M. Fields

A few months ago on a school morning, as I attempted to etch a straight midline part on the back of my wiggling daughter's soon-to-be-ponytailed blond head, I reminded her that it was chilly outside and she needed to grab a sweater.

"No, mama."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I don't want to wear that sweater, it makes me look fat."

"What?!" My comb clattered to the bathroom floor. "Fat?! What do you know about fat? You're 5 years old! You are definitely not fat. God made you just right. Now get your sweater."

She scampered off, and I wearily leaned against the counter and let out a long, sad sigh. It has begun. I thought I had a few more years before my twin daughters picked up the modern day f-word. I have admittedly had my own seasons of unwarranted, psychotic Slim-Fasting and have looked erroneously to the scale to give me a measurement of myself. But these departures from my character were in my 20s, before the balancing hand of motherhood met the grounding grip of running. Once I learned what it meant to push myself, I lost all taste for depriving myself. I want to grow into more of a woman, not find ways to whittle myself down to less.

The way I see it, the only way to run counter to our toxic image-centric society is to literally run by example. I can't tell my daughters that beauty is an incidental side effect of living your passion rather than an adherence to socially prescribed standards. I can't tell my son how t ~ Kristin Armstrong

Forgive me," he said tightly. "That was uncalled for."
"It certainly was," Maria said. "She was saying nice things about you."
His gaze shot to her. "She was pointing out, yet again, how I've failed my family."
"If you don't like it," Maria countered, "why don't you stop failing them?"
"Touche, Maria," Minerva said softly.
Gritting his teeth, Oliver turned his gaze out the window, no doubt wishing he could be well away from them all. And as he retreated into himself, Minerva began to tell one story after another about Oliver as a boy.
Maria didn't want to be enchanted by them, but she couldn't help herself. She laughed at the tale of how he'd fallen into the pond in front of Halstead Hall while trying to "charm" fish into the boat the way Indians charmed snakes out of their baskets. She tried not to laugh at the one where he coaxed Gabe into sharing Gabe's piece of cake by claiming that it might have been poisoned, requiring Oliver to "taste it and make sure it was safe."
But the tale about some lad pulling five-year-old Minerva's hair, and Oliver jumping to her rescue by punching Minerva's attacker, made Maria want to cry. The Oliver who'd defended his sister still existed-she glimpsed him from time to time. So where had the other, carefree Oliver gone? His siblings didn't seem nearly as bitter over the tragedy of their parents' deaths as he. Was it simply because he'd been older? Or did something else about it plague him? ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I see you had no taste for the wine I sent you."

"Such sudden generosity seemed somewhat suspect."

"I can have your head off anytime I want. Why should I need to poison you?"

"Death by poison can seem natural. Harder to claim that my head simply fell off. ~ George R R Martin

They don't want to know that you'll never eat birthday cake because you don't want to erase the magical taste of frosting on his lips. That you wake up ever day wondering why you got to live and he didn't. ~ Sarah Ockler

You've got pretty good taste." She pulled out a suit, looked at it, put it back, pulled out another. "I can remember, you always wore good suits, good-looking suits, even before you were rich."
"I like suits," he said. "They feel good. I like Italian suits, actually. I've had a couple of British suits, and they were okay, but they felt ... constructed. Like I was wearing a building. But the Italians - they know how to make a suit."
"Ever try French suits?"
"Yeah, three or four times. They're okay, but a little ... sharp-looking. They made me feel like a watch salesman."
"How about American suits?"
:Efficient," he said. "Do the job; don't feel like much. You always wear an American suit if you don't want people to notice you. ~ John Sandford

Van was feeding Christian as we walked in the door. I shielded my hands in front of my face to prevent from seeing her bare breast. "God damn woman, put that tit away!"

"I'm feeding my daughter. You want another taste?"

I started gagging immediately just thinking about how bad that shit tasted. "Hell no! I would rather eat dog shit. ~ Jennifer Foor

I want to taste that sweet little mouth of yours," he says, but he's not done. He's just using a dramatic pause to build the tension for the next bit. And it's good that he does, because the next part is this: "Before I make you come so hard you forget who you are. ~ Charlotte Stein

I don't know that I have a favorite meal. When I'm cooking I'm thinking about the person I'm feeding and I want to make them whatever they want. My husband's favorite meal is carbonara. I guess my favorite food is anything my mom makes. Because like anybody who loves their mother's cooking, if you try and make your mom's recipes, they never taste quite the same. And I don't know if that's because she's lying about what she's putting in there and just not telling me. Like when I turn my back, she's sneaking something in there. It just never seems to taste the same. ~ Rachael Ray

He got up and said, I think you've got something in you. I don't know. Women very rarely have. I mean most women just want to be good at something, they've got good-at minds, and they mean deftness and a flair and good taste and what-not. They can't ever understand that if your desire is to go to the furthest limits of yourself then the actual form your art takes doesn't seem important to you. Whether ~ John Fowles

Revealing yourself, physically or emotionally, to cast and crew is frequently uncomfortable. But it is essential if you want to to tell the truth. I felt more at ease being bold with some than I did with others. I was incredibly fortunate to have worked with Randy Harrison as Justin Taylor. We share enough taste in music and art to have had a real camaraderie, and luckily that evolved into a deep friendship. ~ Gale Harold

These books you're reading . . . I question your taste, Miss Twill."

She straightened the collar of his maroon coat. "I'll read what I please, Mr. Thane."

"I have a suggestion," he said with a wry smile, stepping away and glancing back at the sunset, which had already grown ruddier. "I have a dissertation on eighteenth-century Folding basics on interlibrary loan. It's wonderfully dry and has all its nouns capitalized. I think you'll enjoy it."

Ceony frowned. "You want me to study primitive Folding techniques?"

"Only subprimitive," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "It never hurts to go back to basics, even if you think you know them."

"I do know them."

"Are you sure?"

Ceony paused. "Is this a hint for my test? ~ Charlie N. Holmberg

This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste. ~ Ernest Hemingway,

Can you hold happiness? Can you drink it? Can you taste it? Can you touch it? Of course not, it is immaterial. So, stop looking for it in the material world! Happiness is experienced within; when we bridge the gap between what we want to experience and how we choose to behave. ~ Steve Maraboli

Dear Future Daughter:

1) When you're at some party, chain smoking on the roof with some strange girl with blue hair and exorbitant large dark eyes, ask her about her day. I promise you, you won't regret it. Often times you'll find the strangest of people have the most captivating of stories to tell.

2) Please, never mistake desire for love. Love will engulf your soul, whilst desire will emerge as acid, slowly making it's way through your veins, gradually burning you from the inside out.

3) No one is going to fucking save you, anything you've read or heard otherwise is bullshit.

4) One day a boy is going to come along who's touch feels like fire and who's words taste like vanilla, when he leaves you, you will want to die. If you know anything at all, know that it is only temporary.

5) Your mental health comes before school baby, always. If its midnight, and you have an exam the next day but your hands have been shaking for the past hour and a half and you're not so sure you want to be alive anymore, pull out that carton of Ben and Jerry's and afterwards, go the fuck to bed. So what if you get a 68% on the exam the next day? You took care of yourself and at the end of the day that will always come before a high test score. To hell with anyone who tells you differently. ~ Abbie Nielsen

I mean, if your about to tell me something like I'm dead, that i need to start acquiring a taste for blood, and I can't even eat sushi, I wont be able to handle it. Or if you're going to tell me that I'm going to start howling at the moon, eating peoples cats, and will spend the rest of my life having to get waxed if I want to wear a bathing suit, then I don't think I can handle it, either. I like cats and I tried waxing once, and that hurt like a son of a gun. -Kylie ~ C.C. Hunter

I love the way you taste," she said as she licked her lips. And that made his erection flare in her hand. "Climb up on me," he said gruffly. "I want to be inside you - climb up." For ~ J.R. Ward

Everyone's taste is different. But I think the best way to defend against regrets after opening night is to try your best to tell the story you want to tell. In terms of smaller changes over time, I think good plays are like poems. Every syllable counts. ~ Stephen Karam

Wait. I want to taste you first.


~Aiden ~ Ann Mayburn

Tom felt that it was time to wake up; this sort of life might be romantic enough, in his blighted condition, but it was getting to have too little sentiment and too much distracting variety about it. So he thought over various plans for relief, and finally hit pon that of professing to be fond of Pain-killer. He asked for it so often that he became a nuisance, and his aunt ended by telling him to help himself and quit bothering her. If it had been Sid, she would have had no misgivings to alloy her delight; but since it was Tom, she watched the bottle clandestinely. She found that the medicine did really diminish, but it did not occur to her that the boy was mending the health of a crack in the sitting-room floor with it.

One day Tom was in the act of dosing the crack when his aunt's yellow cat came along, purring, eying the teaspoon avariciously, and begging for a taste. Tom said:

"Don't ask for it unless you want it, Peter."

But Peter signified that he did want it.

"You better make sure."

Peter was sure.

"Now you've asked for it, and I'll give it to you, because there ain't anything mean about me; but if you find you don't like it, you mustn't blame anybody but your own self."

Peter was agreeable. So Tom pried his mouth open and poured down the Pain-killer. Peter sprang a couple of yards in the air, and then delivered a war-whoop and set off round and round the room, banging against furniture, upset ~ Mark Twain

I want to taste all of you. Shove that pretty dress up to your waist and bury my face between your legs. I want to make you come so hard you can barely walk afterward. ~ Katie Reus

And FYI, I don't kiss on the mouth. So if you want to taste me you'll have to do it somewhere else," I add, flashing a wicked grin. "Call it a test. You make me cum with your mouth and I'll let you take me to the hotel next door. If you can't make me cum, then I go back out to the bar and find someone who can. ~ Alexa Riley

Once or twice, at night, he planted himself in front of the type-writer, trying to get back to the book he'd come to New York to write. It was supposed to be about America, and freedom, and the kinship of time to pain, but in order to write about these things, he'd needed experience. Well, be careful what you wish for. For now all he seemed capable of producing was a string of sentences starting, Here was William. Here was William's courage, for example. And here was William's sadness, smallness of stature, size of hands. Here was his laugh in a dark movie theater, his unpunk love of the films of Woody Allen, not for any of the obvious ways they flattered his sensibility, but for something he called their tragic sense, which he compared to Chekhov's (whom Mercer knew he had not read). Here was the way he never asked Mercer about his work; the way he never talked about his own and yet seemed to carry it with him just beneath the skin; the way his skin looked in the sodium light from outside with the light off, with clothes off, in silver rain; the way he embodied qualities Mercer wanted to have, but without ruining them by wanting to have them; the way his genius overflowed its vessel, running off into the drain; the unfinished self-portrait; the hint of some trauma in his past, like the war a shell-shocked town never talks about; his terrible taste in friends; his complete lack of discipline; the inborn incapacity for certain basic things that made you want to mother him, fuc ~ Garth Risk Hallberg

This isn't over between us. It's just beginning. I've had a taste of you. I'm not going to want anything else. ~ Karina Halle

You don't tip before I've delivered the service, mate." I may be a prostitute but I don't accept payment when I haven't worked for it. I'll be vulnerable to peculiar demands later on. "I want you to have it." Ali shifts his feet uncomfortably. He gazes at me for a long moment, seemingly debating what to say. "I...I want us to have sex as though we're making love." Making love? Jaysus. I scratch my head. I am at a loss why the words scare me. It's not like I don't understand what it's about, theoretically. "Okay. You mean more kisses and shit?" Ali laughs. "And shit." His face lights up and he looks about ten years younger. "Like cuddles." Cuddles. Hugs. Kisses. Luxuries for other people. Sex has been only sex to me in the last few years. I guess grown-ups sometimes need some tender loving care. Fuck knows why Ali wants that from me, but if it's what he fancies, it's not the weirdest request I've ever heard. "'Course. The customer is always right." A frown appears briefly on his handsome face. I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. We are still standing when I start kissing him, slowly at first as if I need to taste his lips and savour them. All the while, I try to think of him
as someone I want. Strangely, it turns me on more than I care to admit. As I undress him, each small button of his shirt I undo brings expectation that thrills me. His strong hands seem too big for the same task, but they are delicate at the same time with the act of revealing my body. Soon ~ A. Zukowski

When he sees the state that he's brought me to, his lips curl in to a heart-stopping smirk.
You want this, don't you, sweetness ? Because I can tell you right now, after just one taste of you, I want you more than my next breath. ~ Harper Sloan