But sex is not just which part of whose body was where. It’s the relationship between the participants, the furniture in the room, or the leaves on the tree, what gets said before and after, the emotions—act of love, act of lust, act of hate, act of indifference, act of violence, act of despair, act of manipulation, act of hope. Those things have to be part of it.
—  Margaret Atwood, excerpt from The Art of Fiction No. 121, The Paris Review
Eroticism is the thrilling desire to connect: to know, to explore, to penetrate, and to comprehend. When our lives are electrified by an erotic pulse, all existence becomes illuminated.
—  Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, The Kosher Sutra
She is lake-water in April as she lies
In her depths binding poplar and eucalyptus
Fishes or stars burning between her thighs
Shadow of birds scarcely hiding her sex
Her breasts two still villages under a peaceful sky
This woman lying here like a white stone
Like water in the moon in a dead crater
Not a sound in the night not moss nor sand
Only the slow budding of my words.
—  Octavio Paz, excerpt of In Her Spender Islanded

“Woman, whose thighs are like
the desert palm where golden
dates fall from,
your breasts speak seven tongues
and I was made to listen
to them all.
Give me the chance
to avoid this storm,
this sweeping love,
this wintry air, and to be convinced,
to blaspheme, and to enter
the flesh of things.
Give me the chance
to be the one
to walk on water.”

- Nizar Qabbani, excerpt of Two African Breasts