Quotes About Intimacy

But sometimes he would ask, in the middle of a sentence- concerned, possibly, with Ancient Rome: 'Little-bit- d'you love me?

I wanted children. I wanted to be inside again, with the light and safety, with my manhood unquestioned, watching my woman put my children to bed. I wanted the same bed at night and the same arms and I wanted to rise in the morning, knowing where I was. I wanted a woman to be for me a steady ground, like the earth itself, where I could always be renewed.

Then, we were still. We did not move, because we could not. We held each other so close that we might indeed have been one body.

I felt in her marvellously living body the possibility of legitimate surrender.

I walked over to her and put my head on her breast. I wanted to lie there, hidden and still.

His body, which I had come to know so well, glowed in the light and changed and thickened the air between us. Then something opened in my brain, a secret, noiseless door swung open, frightening me: it had not occurred to me until that instant that, in fleeing from his body, I confirmed and perpetuated his body's power over me. Now, as though I had been branded, his body was burned into my mind, into my dreams.

Then I took her in my arms and something happened then. I was terribly glad to see her. It really seemed, with Hella in the circle of my arms, that my arms were home and I was welcoming her back there. She fitted in my arms, she always had, and the shock of holding her caused me to feel that my arms had been empty since she had been away.

I guess it can't be too often that two people can laugh and make love, too, make love because they are laughing, laugh because they're making love. The love and the laughter come from the same place: but not many people go there.

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

hands which would have the power to crush me and make me whole again.

I've known him all my life and I hope I always know him.

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.

I feel that I want to be forgiven; I want her to forgive me. But I do not know how to state my crime. My crime, in some odd way, is in being a man and she knows all about this already. It is terrible how naked she makes me feel, like a half-grown boy, naked before his mother.

The distance between oneself—the audience—and a screen performer is an absolute: a paradoxical absolute, masquerading as intimacy.

Close up, you see the person's wrinkles, warts, and pimples; when close to you, the person has innumerable ways of driving you up the wall: but when far from you, these very same imperfections become irreplaceable and beautiful, testifying, after all, to how much each cared about the other. Close up, the person's imperfections matter, but from far away, you see your own. The questions then is not How did I stand her? but How did she stand me?

When two people have so much to say to each other that there's almost nothing they can say, and they just stare at each other. But that's saying something, too.

We no longer talked about our love affairs, for either they had failed, were failing, or were serious. Above all they were private—how can love be talked about? It is probably the most awful of all the revelations this little life affords.

Loving anybody and being loved by anybody is a tremendous danger, a tremendous responsibility.

Fear and love cannot long remain in the same bed together. And how many nights I lay there, while Barbara slept, filled with an indescribable bewilderment; feeling that all that held me to life was being gnawed away, and feeling myself sink, like a weighted corpse, deeper and deeper in the sea of uncertainty.

His touch, which should have raised her, lifted her roughly only to throw her down hard; whenever he touched her, she became blacker and dirtier than ever; the loneliest place under heaven was in Paul's arms.

I doubt that Americans will ever be able to face the fact that the word 'homosexual' is not a noun. The root of this word, as Americans use it — or, as this word uses Americans — simply involves a terror of any human touch, since any human touch can change you.

We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over. So in a series of acts of kindness there is, at last, one which makes the heart run over.

Men need to whisper secrets, Lady. That's what makes them different from us – they need to share secrets, but we women only reveal them to gain an advantage.

a man has a false heart in his mouth for all the world to see, another in his breast to show his very special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except himself alone