I wonder what the difference is between love and lust.
Love begins with an image; lust with a sensation.
Love is not lust. The two (love and lust) are poles apart. Love liberates while lust binds.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
Love grows, lust wastes by enjoyment.
If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.
I know love and lust don't always keep the same company.
Tis better to have love and lust Than to let our apparatus rust.
In our minds, love and lust are really separated. It's hard to find someone that can be kind and you can trust enough to leave your kids with, and isn't afraid to throw her man up against the wall and lick him from head to toe.
I believe in love and lust and sex and romance. I don't want everything to add up to some perfect equation. I want mess and chaos. I want someone to go crazy out of his mind for me. I want to feel passion and heat and sweat and madness. I want valenties and cupids and all of that crap. I want it all.
Someone asked me about the difference between love and lust. Hmmm. That will take a little thought. How to tell the difference? Well, for guys, if she looks better AFTER you've made love to her than before, that might be love. If you find yourself itching to get out the door afterward, probably just lust, y'know?
For that is what a child should be, and seldom is, the product of man and woman, of opposing natures, unified, however temporarily, by the amazing, circling, weaving dance of love and lust and God's involvement in it.
We will cry and bleed and lust and love, and we will cure death. We will be the cure. Because we want it.
It is the difference betwixt lust and love that this is fixed, that volatile. Love grows, lust wastes by enjoyment.
Running, close companion to death, summons us to the most vivid acts of life. Our ancestors (we have forgotten) ran for food and for love, love and lust. For us, a prime symbol of sexuality is the automobile. For the ancients it was the chase, the foot race. Satyr and nymph, maiden and god, hot pursuit. The mythic hunters, Diana and Atalanta, available only to the males, men or gods, who could outrun them; death to all others.
We danced our youth in a dreamed of city, Venice, paradise, proud and pretty, We lived for love and lust and beauty, Pleasure then our only duty. Floating them twixt heaven and Earth And drank on plenties blessed mirth We thought ourselves eternal then, Our glory sealed by God’s own pen. But paradise, we found is always frail, Against man’s fear will always fail.
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