Sexual arousal results from the repetition and impact of image.
I find Shakespeare surprisingly sexual. A lot of his language - a lot - has that kind of sexual innuendo that is at once everywhere but also kinda lost because we have our own innuendo now, our own language.
That’s why our TVs are brimming with so much hot man-on-pan action. You can’t channel surf for long without seeing turkey getting stuffed over and over until they finally cut to the gravy shot.
There is a big difference between The Merchant of Venice and a photograph of two males of different races in an erotic pose on a marble table top.
I'm not a big one for lots of genitals flapping in the films.
I don't think any of our lyrics have ever been erotic in a sexual term, because I haven't really written, touched on, that subject too often. But, uh... I mean, I suppose they could point the finger at us for violence maybe in certain songs.
People have done pornographic pictures forever, but most of the people who involve themselves in explicit sexuality aren't really artists.
A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as she was under her light frock. I saw her face in the sky, strangely distinct, as if it emitted a faint radiance of its own.
Betcha I wet cha like hurricanes and typhoons, got buffoons eating my pussy while I watch cartoons.
Uncorseted, her friendly bust Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
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.
A good nude photograph can be erotic, but certainly not sentimental or pornographic.
The moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant with a mighty expectation of relief.
Vampires to me have always been very sexy.
I like smooth shiny girls, hardboiled and loaded with sin.
He is a boy sleeping against the mosque wall, ejaculates wet dreaming into a thousand cunts pink and smooth as sea shells.
Eating a raw oyster is like french kissing a mermaid.
Spring slattern of seasons you have soggy legs and a muddy petticoat drowsy is your hair your eyes are sticky with dream and you have a sloppy body from being brought to bed of crocuses when you sing in your whisky voice the grass rises on the head of the earth and all the trees are put on edge spring of the excellent jostle of thy hips and the superior
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
