Quotes About Intimacy

Women don't see men the way men want to be seen. They see all the tender places, all the places where blood could flow.

But what I mean about being a woman is, we might get married now and stay married for fifty years and I might be a stranger to you every instant of that time and you might never know it.

It does seem - well, difficult - to be at the mercy of some gross, unshaven stranger before you can begin to be yourself.

We had our arms around each other. It was like holding in my hand some rare, exhausted, nearly doomed bird which I had miraculously happened to find.

Terrifying, that the loss of intimacy with one person results in the freezing over of the world, and the loss of oneself.

There are tears on his face, his face or mine, I don't know. I kiss him where our tears fall. I start to say something. He puts one finger on my lips. He smiles his little smile.

He held my face between his hands and I suppose such tenderness has scarcely ever produced such terror as I then felt. 'Ne me laisse pas tomber, je t'en prie,' he said, and kissed me, with strange insistent gentleness on the mouth.

For, without love, pleasure withers quickly, becomes a foul taste on the palate, and pleasure's inventions are soon exhausted. There must be a soul within the body you are holding, a soul which you are striving to meet, a soul which is striving to meet yours.

It is very frightening to belong to somebody.

No matter how it seems now, I must confess: I loved him. I do not think I will ever love anyone like that again.

But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better—forever—if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe.

For a woman,' she said, 'I think a man is always a stranger. And there's something awful about being at the mercy of a stranger.

He could not endure being very far from me for very long. I was the only person on God's cold, green earth who cared about him, who knew his speech and silence, knew his arms, and did not carry a knife.

One can give nothing whatever without giving oneself—that is to say, risking oneself.

But the fact that I had said it as he held my hand made it sound to me unutterably helpless and soft and coy.

dreamed of the touch of hands, of Giovanni's hands, or anybody's hands, hands which would have the power to crush me and make me whole again.

Love him, said Jacques, with vehemence, love him and let him love you

You don't know what he means by friendship but you have the feeling it may not be safe. You are afraid it may change you. What kind of friendship have you had?

Negroes know about each other what can here be called family secrets. And this means that one negro, if he wishes, can knock the other's hustle, can give his game away.

I see his legs buckle, his thighs jelly, the buttocks quiver, the secret hammer there begins to knock.

I never wish to make love again with anything more than the body.

I was trembling. I thought, if I do not open the door at once and get out of here, I am lost. But I knew I could not open the door, I knew it was too late; soon it was too late to do anything but moan. He pulled me against him, putting himself into my arms as though he were giving me himself to carry, and slowly pulled me down with him to that bed. With everything in me screaming No! yet the sum of me sighed Yes.

We were a part of each other, flesh of each other's flesh-which meant that we so took each other for granted that we never thought of the flesh.

It would help if I were able to feel guilty. But the end of innocence is also the end of guilt. No matter how it seems now, I must confess: I loved him. I do not think that I will ever love anyone like that again.