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“It was the sexual chemistry I wanted more of. It was electric. I'd forgotten what it was like to be with someone who excited you in every sense of the word, who thrilled and frightened you in equal measure.”
― Lucy Robinson, The Greatest Love Story of All Time

“To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling!”
― Anton Chekhov, The Lottery Ticket

“You're so clean that you're dirty.”
― Caroline Kepnes, You

“There’s an undeniable thrill about meeting a stranger and spending a few hours together, indulging in each other’s lives. It’s that spurt of saying whatever you want and leaving it behind with someone who’ll never look at you and think of it again.”
― Danielle Esplin, Give It Back

“Still, hell or no hell, it was satisfactory, it was even exciting in those early days to know that one was doing something bad and wrong. But there is in debauchery something so intrinsically dull, something so absolutely and hopelessly dismal, that it is only the rarest beings, gifted with much less than the usual amount of intelligence and much more than the usual intensity of appetite, who can go on actively enjoying a regular course of vice or continue actively to believe in its wickedness. Most habitual debauchees are debauchees not because they enjoy debauchery, but because they are uncomfortable when deprived of it. Habit converts luxurious enjoyments into dull and daily necessities. The man who has formed a habit of women or gin, of opium-smoking or flagellation, finds it as difficult to live without his vice as to live without bread and water, even though the actual practice of the vice may have become in itself as unexciting as eating a crust or drinking a glass from the kitchen tap. Habit is as fatal to a sense of wrong-doing as to active enjoyment. After a few years the converted or sceptical Jew, the Westernized Hindu, can eat their pork and beef with an equanimity which to their still-believing brothers seems brutally cynical. It is the same with the habitual debauchee. Actions which at first seemed thrilling in their intrinsic wickedness become after a certain number of repetitions morally neutral. A little disgusting, perhaps; for the practice of most vices is followed by depressing physiological reactions; but no longer wicked, because so ordinary. It is difficult for a routine to seem wicked.”
― Aldous Huxley, Point Counter Point

“...perhaps, also this short embrace may infuse in their veins a little of this thrill which they would not have known without it, and will give to those two dead souls, brought to life in a second, the rapid and divine sensation of this intoxication, of this madness which gives to lovers more happiness in an instant than other men can gather during a whole lifetime.”
― Guy de Maupassant

“I have managed not to finish certain books. With barely a twinge of conscience, I hurl down what bores me or doesn't give what I crave: ecstasy, transcendence, a thrill of mysterious connection. For, more than anything else, readers are thrill-seekers, though I don't read thrillers, not the kind sold under that label, anyway. They don't thrill; only language thrills.”
― Lynne Sharon Schwartz, Ruined By Reading: A Life in Books

“Each of us has our definition of adventure: ending an unsatisfying
relationship, returning to school, parachute jumping or training for a
marathon. Go ahead. Get your thrill on.”
― Gina Greenlee, Postcards and Pearls: Life Lessons from Solo Moments on the Road

“It wasn't about opening her mind, it was about closing down the racket of thoughts and opening up her body. 
She was tingling and throbbing and hot, not so much from her desire specifically for rick, as from a very physical yearning for human touch, to be wanted and ravished by another person after such a long period without. His attention, his hunger, was the thrill; it was an ego massage which in itself was better than her breasts being fondled. ”
― Freya North, Chances

“I have no idea how long Quisser was gone from the table. My attention became fully absorbed by the other faces in the club and the deep anxiety they betrayed to me, an anxiety that was not of the natural, existential sort but one that was caused by peculiar concerns of an uncanny nature. What a season is upon us, these faces seemed to say. And no doubt their voices would have spoken directly of certain peculiar concerns had they not been intimidated into weird equivocations and double entendres by the fear of falling victim to the same kind of unnatural affliction that had made so much trouble in the mind of the art critic Stuart Quisser. Who would be next? What could a person say these days, or even think, without feeling the dread of repercussion from powerfully connected groups and individuals? I could almost hear their voices asking, "Why here, why now?" But of course they could have just as easily been asking, "Why not here, why not now?" It would not occur to this crowd that there were no special rules involved; it would not occur to them, even though they were a crowd of imaginative artists, that the whole thing was simply a matter of random, purposeless terror that converged upon a particular place at a particular time for no particular reason. On the other hand, it would also not have occurred to them that they might have wished it all upon themselves, that they might have had a hand in bringing certain powerful forces and connections into our district simply by wishing them to come. They might have wished and wished for an unnatural evil to fall upon them but, for a while at least, nothing happened. Then the wishing stopped, the old wishes were forgotten yet at the same time gathered in strength, distilling themselves into a potent formula (who can say!), until one day the terrible season began. Because had they really told the truth, this artistic crowd might also have expressed what a sense of meaning (although of a negative sort), not to mention the vigorous thrill (although of an excruciating type), this season of unnatural evil had brought to their lives.

("Gas Station Carnivals")”
― Thomas Ligotti, The Nightmare Factory

“Come out, come out, wherever you are... come out, come out, or you'll end up in the tar...”
― Beatrice Rose Roberts, Twin Loyalties: From The Chronicles Of Tar Ponds City

“Every single time it was grand. I loved the moment when you announce the stickup and everything suddenly goes brighter and sharper and the world seems to spin faster. You show them the gun and say hand it over and there's no telling what's going to happen in the next tick of the clock.”
― James Carlos Blake, Handsome Harry

“Oh, people get used to so many things," said Vadesh, "if only they give them selves a chance.”
― Orson Scott Card, Ruins

“Trekking means a travelling experience with a thrilling excitement.”
― Amit Kalantri

“One of the best kinds of thrill is defining, honoring, and achieving our goals.”
― Gina Greenlee, Postcards and Pearls: Life Lessons from Solo Moments on the Road