Jenny Downham Quotes

When you make love, you must be making love.

The first undressing of two lovers is a most special event.

Two people making love, she once said, are like one drowned person resuscitating the other.

We made love. How pedestrian the words look-trite, worn, practically featureless with use-but how can one better describe that which happens when it happens? That creation? That magic blending? I might say we became figures in a mesmerized dance before the rocking talisman of the moon, starting slow, so slow... a pair of feathers drifting through clear liquid substance of sky... gradually accelerating, faster and faster and finally into photon existence of pure light... as my whole straining body burst like fluid electricity into hers.

Making love, we are all more alike than we are when we are talking or acting.

What makes the perfect kiss? Closing your eyes when you kiss is important. Or lifting up the leg, but that's more of a girl thing, I'm manly. Passion is good! She brings out the best in me. (Selena)

Something about telling that story made my gut grow back together." What?" Oh, nothing. Just thinking out loud." That's who you really like. The people you can think out loud in front of." The people who've been in your secret hiding places." The people you bite your thumb in front of." Hi." Hi." ..." ..." Wow. My first Lindsey." My second Colin." That was fun. Let's try it again." Sold." ..." ..." ...".

No music while making love... the sound of the love being made is better than music.

Words have finished flirting. Now they are making love.

Making love without noise is like playing a muted piano-fine for practice, but you cheat yourself out of hearing the glorious results.

It's the right time of the night for making love.

Poetry and painting are done in the same way you make love; it's an exchange of blood, a total embrace - without caution, without any thought of protecting yourself.

I don't want you to cook my bread, I don't want you to make my bed. I don't want you to because I'm sad and blue, I just want to make love to you.

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.

And he made love to her, offering his body in both tenderness and anger, unsure which was the best way to pass her bits of his soul so that she could patch her own with it

When I play, I make love – it is the same thing.

The secret ingredient to sex is love.

The amusement fled from Royce's face and with a groan he pulled her roughly against his chest, crushing her to him. "Jenny," he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in her fragrant hair. "Jenny, I love you." She melted against him, molding her body to the rigid contours of his, offering her lips up for his fierce, devouring kiss, then she took his face between both her hands. Leaning back slightly against his arm, her melting blue eyes gazing deeply into his, his wife replied in a shaky voice, "I think, my lord, I love you more.

a lot of brothers don't understand. When it comes to making love, reciprocity is everything.

I want to take you for pleasure, and hold you in my arms for desire. I want you to know that it is your kiss that I want, not another heir to the throne. You can know that I love you, quite for yourself, when I come to your bed, and not as the York’s broodmare.” I tilt back my head and look at him under my eyelashes. “You think to bed me for love and not for children? Isn’t that sin?” His arm comes around my waist and his palm cups my breast. “I shall make sure that it feels richly sinful,” - Edward IV to Elizabeth Woodville -

Make love when you can. It's good for you.

Making love? It's a communion with a woman. The bed is the holy table. There I find passion -- and purification.

Music should be like making love. Sometimes you want it soft and tender, another time you want it hard and aggressive.

Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asked. ”Enough to accept my apologies?” I suggested in a small voice. ”Heck no,” he said, and pushed off from the wall, stalking forward. When he reached me, he put his hands up and touched the sides of my neck with the tips of his fingers – as if I were something fragile. ”No apologies from you,” he told me, his voice soft enough to melt my knees and most of my other parts.