Fucking Quotes

“Don't let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love.”
― Gabriel García Márquez

“It was my uncle who taught me about the birds and the bees. He sat me down one day and said, 'Remember this, George, the birds fuck the bees.' Then he told me he once banged a girl so hard her freckles came off.”
― George Carlin, Brain Droppings

“Fuck me,” I whispered, giving him permission, taking him into my flesh, a soft invitation to madness.”
― Emme Rollins, Dear Rockstar

“I figured I had kept her from being too depressed after fucking--it's hard for a girl with any force in her and any brains to accept the whole thing of fucking, of being fucked without trying to turn it on its end, so that she does some fucking, or some fucking up; I mean, the mere power of arousing the man so he wants to fuck isn't enough; she wants him to be willing to die in order to fuck. There's a kind of strain or intensity women are bred for, as beasts, for childbearing when childbearing might kill them, and child rearing when the child might die at any moment: it's in women to live under that danger, with that risk, that close to tragedy, with that constant taut or casual courage. They need death and nobility near. To be fucked when there's no drama inherent in it, when you're not going to rise to a level of nobility and courage forever denied the male, is to be cut off from what is inherently female, bestially speaking.”
― Harold Brodkey

“take your best orgasm, multiply the feeling by twenty, and you're still fuckin miles off the pace”
― Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting

“I wish I could line up naked the men I've slept with and just gloat for a hot minute. Beautiful creatures.”
― Crystal Woods, Write like no one is reading 2

“I care for you, darling, I love you,
the only reason I fucked L. is because you fucked
Z. and then I fucked R. and you fucked N.
and because you fucked N. I had to fuck
Y. But I think of you constantly, I feel you
here in my belly like a baby, love I'd call it,
no matter what happens I'd call it love, and so
you fucked C. and then before I could move
you fucked W., so I had to fuck D. But
I want you to know that I love you, I think of you
constantly, I don't think I've ever loved anybody
like I love you.”
― Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit

“To rest was to receive all aspects of the world without judgment. A bath in the sea, a fuck with a soldier who never knew your name. Tenderness toward the unknown and anonymous, which was tenderness to the self.”
― Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

“You'll see me differently in the morning, after I've fucked some sense into you.”
― Virginia Wade, Cum For The Viking 1

“I’m a monster. You’re a monster. We’re all fucking inhuman monsters, and we don’t see a damned thing wrong with it.”
― John Scalzi, Old Man's War

“The time came to put Iris Duarte back on the plane.
It was a morning flight which made it difficult. I was
used to rising at noon; it was a fine cure for hangovers
and would add 5 years to my life. I felt no sadness
while driving her to L.A. International. The sex had
been fine; there had been laughter. I could hardly
remember a more civilized time, neither of us making
any demands, yet there had been warmth, it had not
been without feeling, dead meat coupled with dead
meat. I detested that type of swinging, the Los
Angeles, Hollywood, Bel Air, Malibu, Laguna Beach
kind of sex. Strangers when you meet, strangers when
you part—a gymnasium of bodies namelessly
masturbating each other. People with no morals often
considered themselves more free, but mostly they
lacked the ability to feel or to love. So they became
swingers. The dead fucking the dead. There was no
gamble or humor in their game—it was corpse
fucking corpse. Morals were restrictive, but they were
grounded on human experience down through the
centuries. Some morals tended to keep people
slaves in factories, in churches and true to the State.
Other morals simply made good sense. It was like a
garden filled with poisoned fruit and good fruit. You
had to know which to pick and eat, which to leave
alone.”
― Charles Bukowski, Women

“Holy. Fucking. Hot.”
― Rebecca Yarros, Fourth Wing

“You can't fuck somebody into loving you.”
― Ntozake Shange, Sassafrass, Cypress & Indigo

“I hope you're at peace. I hope you... I hope you're in heaven, and you fell in love with someone who treats you better than I ever did, and that they're fucking your brains out and then fucking your brains back in after that on a daily basis. I'll always miss you, Lucille. I'm sorry I named a fucking baseball bat after you.”
― Robert Kirkman, The Walking Dead, Vol. 27: The Whisperer War

“How was the sex?” he asked casually.

“Excuse me?”

“How was it,” said Nicholas, emphasizing each syllable, “when he fucked you? I'm assuming it was a he. Tell me all about it. I want to know.”

Jay set her fork down with a ping. “It was fine.”

“Dinner is fine. Cable television is fine. I'm asking if, when he was pounding into you at night with his college boy cock, were you screaming the walls down, or were you just lying there calculating last night's tips?”
― Nenia Campbell, Quid Pro Quo

“God, you feel so good." Lying face to face, our bodies tangled up together as close as we could get, I pumped into Emma's slick heat and groaned. Trembling, I cupped her flushed cheek and kissed her soft mouth. I loved her for hours, nice and slow, every inch of me aching for release, but drawing it out for as long as I could. We'd been at it all night and, now, in the hot sun of the morning.
"Lucian." She rocked me, the tips of her breasts brushing my chest.
Grunting, I reached between us; found her sweet, swollen nipple; and tweaked it. The walls of her sex clenched in response, and she circled her hips on a moan. So fucking good.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Sex with a writer should be on any and everyone’s bucket list. Like a box of chocolates, you’d have no clue which of our multiple personalities you’d encounter. Odds are, you’d find that perfect lover. So perfect this inamorata and/or inamorato that your psyche would forever be consumed with hopes that you’d, again, experience, even for a brief moment, the all-encompassing magmatism of that carnal deity within.”
― A.K. Kuykendall

“Gentlemen, the secret to achieving the gift of an ultimate climax for whomever you happen to love is locked away in an impenetrable vault within her mind. If you love her, you'll fight like hell through Venuses maze. You'll find the elusive vault. And, for her sake, you'll release the motherfucking valve. This is what she wants.”
― A.K. Kuykendall

“Danny grinned, this smile reaching her eyes. “I’m more entertained at your inability to casually do anything—whether it’s friendship, dating, or fucking.”
― Katherine McIntyre, Taking Root

“At last Eddie understood why they called it 'making love.' Until now he'd only been having sex, and, my oh my, what he had been missing.”
― Philip Elliott, Nobody Move

“His physical strength on full display, his erotic thirst defined in loud forceful motions that waver between making love and...”
― Bat Maxwell, The Color of Honey

“Beware of the dark arts, lad. Don’t think those priests are holy. It’s not by accident this world has taken the most intimate act, fucking, and turned it into an obscenity.”
― David Paul Kirkpatrick

“Anchored to her sure-fired eyes I am then followed by a thirst in her that she is still craving to satiate. Grabbing ahold of me upside down with her mesic grasp she warms her sienna-sand skin inverse to me. Feeling her seize my sacral nerve she maneuvers to carefully empty me again. Like brontide building up to a cloudburst she absorbs me drawing a deep squeeze upwards consuming every ounce of my sucré crème. Effleuraging the soft soused petals of her poporo she braces herself feeling an apical and phreatic trembling inside of her. Feeling her squeeze that last lick she cums again into my mouth. Feeling me swill that nectarous haoma sluicing from her pink pearlious clam. Candy flipping her clitoral shaft and tasting the pomaceous pabulum of her inner goddess. Beholding in part that celestial diluvium by which all creation is bathed. Feeling her exultant joy and tactual grip as she releases a beautiful freeing cry”
― Luca Evola, Arabala

“Ewww gross! I can't believe you thought I'd copulate with him."

I cringe. "Please don't ever use that word again."

"Copulate? What's wrong with it?" I make a face at her.

"Nothing, just... never say it again in my presence."

"What about fornicate?"

Ugh , this is why I don't want kids. Was I this annoying as a teenager? "No."

"Coitus?"

"No."

"Intercourse?"

I glower at her. "It's fucking. Making love if you're into that wishy-washy bullshit, and sex if it's meaningless. No other terms."

"Not even boinking?”
― Marie Mistry, Traitor Witch

“To start succeeding in a specific area you need fucking huge action to take… to invest time… less eating… less sleep… less time wasting…”
― Deyth Banger

“Cheating is not just about fucking someone, Karan.”
― hitendra holanki

“Cheating is not just about fucking someone, karan.”
― Hitendra Solanki

“The fog smelled like fucking, like us, like our sweat fermented into sweet pudding”
― K-Ming Chang, Bestiary

“I'm not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.'

Helion, across the reflection pool, grinned like a lion.

'No,' Tamlin said with equal ease, 'you're just in the business of fucking them.'

Every thought and sound eddied out of my head.

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor were as still as death- their fury rippling off them in silent waves. But whether Tamlin noticed or cared that three of the deadliest people in this room were currently contemplating his demise, he didn't let on.

Rhys shrugged, smiling faintly. 'Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.'

'And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.'

Rhys's blink was the only sign of his confusion.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“Red

I fucking depended on you and
you left the fucking wheelbarrow
out and it’s fucking raining
and now the white chickens
are fucking filthy”
― Mary Ruefle, Dunce