She couldn't make him look just like any other man to her. He looked like the love thoughts of women. He could be a bee to a blossom-- a pear tree blossom in the spring. He seemed to be crushing scent out of the world with his footsteps. Crushing aromatic herbs with every step he took. Spices hung about him. He was a glance from God.
     ― Zora Neale Hurston,
  
    
      Their Eyes Were Watching God

She couldn’t make him look just like any other man to her. He looked...

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She couldn't make him look just like any other man to her. He looked like the love thoughts...
Dey gointuh make ’miration ’cause mah love didn’t work lak they love, if dey ever had any. Then you must tell ’em dat love ain’t somethin’ lak uh grindstone dat’s de same thing everywhere and do de same thing tuh everything it touch. Love is lak de sea. It’s uh movin’ thing, but still and all, it takes its shape from de shore it meets, and it’s different with every shore.
     ― Zora Neale Hurston,
  
    
      Their Eyes Were Watching God

Dey gointuh make ’miration ’cause mah love didn’t work lak they love, if dey...

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Dey gointuh make ’miration ’cause mah love didn’t work lak they love, if dey ever had any. Then...
I’ve always loved you, my darling, and despite my reservations of late, you make me proud of the man you are every single day and don’t ever forget that. - Jessica
     ― Zane Michaelson,
  
    
      Ice Queen

I’ve always loved you, my darling, and despite my reservations of late, you make...

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I’ve always loved you, my darling, and despite my reservations of late, you make me proud of the...
But what a lot of people don’t know is our penchant for love is stronger than any other species on the planet. When we fall in love, we fall hard. Our appetite for sex is unparalleled and, as a species, fucking is something we excel at.
     ― Zane Michaelson,
  
    
      The One

But what a lot of people don’t know is our penchant for love is...

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But what a lot of people don’t know is our penchant for love is stronger than any other...
I love you, Sebastián, just like I would had I given birth to you. I’d die for you, but this way, whatever happens to me, you get a chance at human life again.
     ― Zane Michaelson,
  
    
      The Quest

I love you, Sebastián, just like I would had I given birth to you....

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I love you, Sebastián, just like I would had I given birth to you. I’d die for you,...
My blood burned, and my fangs elongated. I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck and taste her. Then, I wanted to take her in my arms and slowly make love to her. Bury my cock deep inside her, let her feel every inch of me, hear her moan with exquisite pleasure and cry out for more as I sink my teeth into her once more. Then take my fill as she reaches the crescendo of her own climax. The human women I’d fucked always wanted more.
     ― Zane Michaelson,
  
    
      The One

My blood burned, and my fangs elongated. I wanted to sink my teeth into...

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My blood burned, and my fangs elongated. I wanted to sink my teeth into her neck and taste...
How could I ever forget that part? You make love to me like no mortal man ever has or could. (Adriel - The Quest)
     ― Zane Michaelson,
  
    
      The Quest

How could I ever forget that part? You make love to me like no...

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How could I ever forget that part? You make love to me like no mortal man ever has...
Greeting cards routinely tell us that everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.
     ― Zadie Smith,
  
    
      White Teeth

Greeting cards routinely tell us that everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water....

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Greeting cards routinely tell us that everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love...
What are you saying? We’re having a nice time, ain’t we?’ Howard stared at him, disbelievingly. ‘No. Son, please. Oh, come on and stay a bit longer. I’ve said the wrong thing, have I? I’ve said the wrong thing. Then let’s sort it! You’re always in a rush. Rush ’ere, rush there. People these days think they can outrun death. It’s just time.’ Harry just wanted Howard to sit down, start again. There were four more hours of quality viewing lined up before bedtime – antique shows and property shows and travel shows and game shows – all of which he and his son might watch together in silent companionship, occasionally commenting on this presenter’s overbite, another’s small hands or sexual preference. And this would all be another way of saying: It’s good to see you. It’s been too long. We’re family. But Howard couldn’t do this when he was sixteen and he couldn’t do it now. He just did not believe, as his father did, that time is how you spend your love. And so, to avoid a conversation about an Australian soap actress, Howard moved into the kitchen to wash up his cup and a few other things in the sink. Ten minutes later he left.
     ― Zadie Smith,
  
    
      On Beauty

What are you saying? We’re having a nice time, ain’t we?’ Howard stared at...

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What are you saying? We’re having a nice time, ain’t we?’ Howard stared at him, disbelievingly. ‘No. Son,...
And those terrible angels—the angel of annihilation—is a beautiful thing, is the maker, too, of joy, and is partly what Zadie Smith’s talking about when she talks about being in joy. That it’s not a feeling or an accomplishment: it’s an entering and a joining with the terrible (the old German kind), joy is. Among the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard anyone say came from my student Bethany, talking about her pedagogical aspirations or ethos, how she wanted to be as a teacher, and what she wanted her classrooms to be: What if we joined our wildernesses together? Sit with that for a minute. That the body, the life, might carry a wilderness, an unexplored territory, and that yours and mine might somewhere, somehow, meet. Might, even, join. And what if the wilderness—perhaps the densest wild in there—thickets, bogs, swamps, uncrossable ravines and rivers (have I made the metaphor clear?)—is our sorrow? Or, to use Smith’s term, the intolerable. It astonishes me sometimes—no, often—how every person I get to know—everyone, regardless of everything, by which I mean everything—lives with some profound personal sorrow. Brother addicted. Mother murdered. Dad died in surgery. Rejected by their family. Cancer came back. Evicted. Fetus not okay. Everyone, regardless, always, of everything. Not to mention the existential sorrow we all might be afflicted with, which is that we, and what we love, will soon be annihilated. Which sounds more dramatic than it might. Let me just say dead. Is this, sorrow, of which our impending being no more might be the foundation, the great wilderness? Is sorrow the true wild? And if it is—and if we join them—your wild to mine—what’s that? For joining, too, is a kind of annihilation. What if we joined our sorrows, I’m saying. I’m saying: What if that is joy?
     ― Ross Gay,
  
    
      The Book of Delights: Essays

And those terrible angels—the angel of annihilation—is a beautiful thing, is the maker, too,...

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And those terrible angels—the angel of annihilation—is a beautiful thing, is the maker, too, of joy, and is...