“Sin ought to be something exquisite, my dear boy.”
“Dear God. She ached, wanting something that she knew was a sin.Wanting a man who was sin itself.”
“AZRAEL:No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater... than central air.”
“Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,”
“Dear God, i am so sorry for whatever i did, but honestly, was my sin that bad?”
“You ought to use a little of that siren song on Alan, my pearl. The boy needs to loosen his cravat.”