Pablo Neruda Quotes

The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.

Sex, a great and mysterious motive force in human life, has indisputably been a subject of absorbing interest to mankind through the ages.

I love my sleep.

Sex, and the attraction between the sexes, does make the world go 'round.

Somewhere between fear and sex passion is.

Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it; let's do it, let's fall in love.

She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.

One of the few downsides to being awakened is that we no longer require sleep; therefore we also no longer dream. It's a shame, because if I could dream, I know I'd dream about you.

I stared into her eyes, wide under the thick fringe of lashes, and yearned for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to *dream*. Maybe, if I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where she and I could be together. She dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of her.

That faculty of beholding at a hint the face of his desire and the shape of his dream, without which the earth would know no lover and no adventurer.

I love kissing. If I could kiss all day, I would. I can’t stop thinking about kissing. I like kissing more than sex because there’s no end to it. You can kiss forever. You can kiss yourself into oblivion. You can kiss all over the body. You can kiss yourself to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t stop thinking about kissing. Dammit, I can’t get anything done because I’m so busy thinking about kissing. Kissing is madness! But it’s absolute paradise, if you can find a good kisser.

You can't deny Eros. Eros wills trike, like lightning. Our human defenses are frail, ludicrous. Like plasterboard houses in a hurricane. Your triumph is in perfect submission. And the god of Eros will flow through you, as Lawrence says, in the 'perfect obliteration of blood consciousness.

Nothing one does in bed is immoral if it helps to perpetuate love.

It is not enough to dream of the Impossible Love - it is necessary to conquer it too.

All I can think about is bed.” “We’re sharing the same thought.” “You’re thinking about bed too?” “I’m thinking about YOU in MY bed.

If I'm dreaming please don't wake me up cause baby I can't get enough of what you do.

Love of beauty is really only the sex instinct, which nothing but complete union satisfies.

Dilige et quod vis fac. (Love and then what you will, do.)

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Judiciously show a cat milk, if you wish her to thirst for it. Judiciously show a dog his natural prey, if you wish him to bring it down one day.

But it is not reason that governs love.

I have no desire to prove anything by my work. I have never used it as an outlet or as a means of expressing myself. I just dance.

Obligation is a flimsy base for creativity, way down the list behind passion, courage, instinct, and the desire to do something great.

In fact her maturity and blood kinship converted her passion to fever, so it was more affliction than affection. It literally knocked her down at night, and raised her up in the morning, for when she dragged herself off to bed, having spent another day without his presence, her heart beat like a gloved fist against her ribs. And in the morning, long before she was fully awake, she felt a longing so bitter and tight it yanked her out of a sleep swept clean of dreams.

Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with milk, And tendre flesh, and make his couche of silk, And let him seen a mous go by the wal; Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al, And every deyntee that is in that hous, Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous.