David Levithan Quotes

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

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

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.

In love-making, as in other arts, those who do it best cannot tell how it is done.

When a man's making love, the last thing he thinks about is war.

When you make love, you must be making love.

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

I didn't understand that when you make love, you actually do MAKE love. Stir things. Affect each other. The breath that escapes from me is dazzled. He breathes it in with a gasp.

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

She makes love just like a woman.

I'm gonna make love to you like fifteen men.

You may make love in dancing as well as sitting.

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

on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.

My approach has always been rather sensual.

The main thing to remember is that making love is at onces the silliest and the most sacred act humans can perform.

Everyone is having sex until they fall in love. When you fall in love, then it's making love.

Sexual love is the most stupendous fact of the universe, and the most magical mystery our poor blind senses know.

Touching his hair, she leaned hesitantly forward, and he folded his arms around her, sinking into sensation again as they kissed--the slight weight of her on his lap, the smell of her. He glided his hands up the warm dip of her spine, felt her shiver and press closer. He could never get enough of this. Never.

We walked back to iDEATH, holding hands. Hands are very nice things, especially after they have travelled back from making love.

Having sex with her is incredible. It's just like a concert. We throw Frisbees around the room. And when she wants more she lights a match.

Love is an alliance of friendship and animalism; if the former predominates it is passion exalted and refined; if the latter, gross and sensual.

I could not make a move without making love.

Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one's own pleasure is shared.

I think that in the sexual act, as delightful as it can be, the very physical part of it is, yes, a hammering away. So it has a certain brutality.