Naughty Quotes

“Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”
― Mae West, The Wit and Wisdom of Mae West

“I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world.”
― Oscar Wilde

“She was pleased to have him come and never sorry to see him go.”
― Dorothy Parker

“Just give me a comfortable couch, a dog, a good book, and a woman. Then if you can get the dog to go somewhere and read the book, I might have a little fun.”
― Groucho Marx

“Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
― Mae West

“Men are my hobby, if I ever got married I'd have to give it up.”
― Mae West

“When women go wrong, men go right after them.”
― Mae West

“Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others.”
― Oscar Wilde

“Of course, you’d warm up faster if you took your clothes off.”
― Stephenie Meyer, Eclipse

“I never loved another person the way I loved myself.”
― Mae West

“We have reason to believe that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation.”
― Lily Tomlin

“good girls go to heaven and bad girls go everywhere”
― Helen Gurley Brown

“The only sea I saw Was the seesaw sea With you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy. Let me shipwreck in your thighs.”
― Dylan Thomas, Under Milk Wood

“Here's to our wives and girlfriends...may they never meet!”
― Groucho Marx

“Q: What's the difference between an enzyme and a hormone?

A: You can't hear an enzyme.”
― Dorothy Parker

“I can remember when the air was clean and sex was dirty.”
― George Burns

“A man is only as old as the woman he feels.”
― Groucho Marx

“If all the girls attending [the Yale prom] were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised.”
― Dorothy Parker, While Rome Burns

“A pessimist is a man who thinks all women are bad. An optimist is a man who hopes they are.”
― Chauncey Mitchell Depew

“The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, bent down, and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path.
'We were just talking about your friend Hagrid,'
Malfoy said to Ron. 'Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his hippogriff's—'
SPLAT.
Malfoy's head jerked back as the mud hit him; his silverblond hair was suddenly dripping in muck.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

“Having sex is like bridge. If you don't have a good partner, you'd better have a good hand.”
― woody allen

“She also said the wicked people needed love as much as good people and were much better at it.”
― Alasdair Gray, Poor Things

“He liked the girls, liked to hold them around the waist, felt like a man when he did. But as for talking with them, no, no! Then he felt as though he were dealing with another species of human being, in some cases a higher one, in others a lower. He secretly admired the weak, pale, little girl and had picked her to be his wife. That was still the only way he could think of a woman - as a wife. He danced in a very chaste and proper manner, but he heard awful stories about his pals, stories he didn't understand until later. They could dance the waltz backwards around the room in a very indecent way, and they told naughty stories about the girls.”
― August Strindberg, The Son of a Servant

“Do you want me to ride you like a rented mule, or do you prefer to be Mr. Missionary Position? I'm fine with wither, so it doesn't matter to me.”
― Katie MacAlister, It's All Greek to Me

“Would you like to sit?" Kellen asked her.
"You'd better do it soon," Owen whispered close to her ear, "or I'm going to bend you over that table and break the club's no-penetration-in-the-lounge rule.”
― Olivia Cunning, Touch Me

“Whip ‘em out boys. We’ll measure them right here and now.”
― NM Facile, Across The Hall

“If just one person has done it, it can be done. by V.L. Marshall”
― Verity Louise Marshall, Hard Money: The Naked Truth Behind the Red Light

“The universe has an itch, and I have been called upon to scratch it.”
― James Halat, The Story of Teddy and Eddie

“COVID-19, are you going to be naughty or nice to me?”
― Steven Magee

“Having perfected his arrangements, he would get my pipe, and, lighting it, would hand it to me. Often he was obliged to strike a light for the occasion, and as the mode he adopted was entirely different from what I had ever seen or heard of before I will describe it.

A straight, dry, and partly decayed stick of the Hibiscus, about six feet in length, and half as many inches in diameter, with a small, bit of wood not more than a foot long, and scarcely an inch wide, is as invariably to be met with in every house in Typee as a box of lucifer matches in the corner of a kitchen cupboard at home.

The islander, placing the larger stick obliquely against some object, with one end elevated at an angle of forty-five degrees, mounts astride of it like an urchin about to gallop off upon a cane, and then grasping the smaller one firmly in both hands, he rubs its pointed end slowly up and down the extent of a few inches on the principal stick, until at last he makes a narrow groove in the wood, with an abrupt termination at the point furthest from him, where all the dusty particles which the friction creates are accumulated in a little heap.

At first Kory-Kory goes to work quite leisurely, but gradually quickens his pace, and waxing warm in the employment, drives the stick furiously along the smoking channel, plying his hands to and fro with amazing rapidity, the perspiration starting from every pore. As he approaches the climax of his effort, he pants and gasps for breath, and his eyes almost start from their sockets with the violence of his exertions. This is the critical stage of the operation; all his previous labours are vain if he cannot sustain the rapidity of the movement until the reluctant spark is produced. Suddenly he stops, becoming perfectly motionless. His hands still retain their hold of the smaller stick, which is pressed convulsively against the further end of the channel among the fine powder there accumulated, as if he had just pierced through and through some little viper that was wriggling and struggling to escape from his clutches. The next moment a delicate wreath of smoke curls spirally into the air, the heap of dusty particles glows with fire, and Kory-Kory, almost breathless, dismounts from his steed.”
― Herman Melville