Quotes About Intimacy

I think you're nice to me and that scares the fuck out of me. Because when a guy's a jerk or an asshole, it's easier because you know where you stand.

It's just much easier with dogs. You don't get laid; but you also don't get the feeling you're hurting their feelings all the time.

Feeling lonely and lacking intimacy are problems that are especially apparent for heterosexual women in their elderly years. Because women more often marry men who are older and because men have a shorter life expectancy than women, women generally outlive their husbands. Because elderly single women outnumber elderly men, it is harder for them to find a mate.

El hombre a quien solo le interesan las relaciones sexuales ocasionales no tiende a invertir tanto esfuerzo.

Women were more likely to regret sexual acts of commission, such as losing virginity to the wrong person, hooking up with a person with low mate value when drunk, and having sex with someone who was not interested in a relationship.

One man who estimated that he had hooked up with thirty or forty women over the past year through dating apps admitted, "I sort of play that I could be a boyfriend kind of guy," in order to win them over, "but then they start wanting me to care more . . . and I just don't.

los hombres son más proclives a dar por terminada una amistad cuando resulta evidente que las relaciones sexuales no forman parte de ésta.

If a woman enjoys having her cervix stimulated during sexual intercourse, then size can matter. For most women, it is going to take a good five or six inches in length to reach the cervix when a woman is sexually aroused.

If women give sex to get love and men give love to get sex, then depriving a man of sex may be a reliable way to stop his love and hasten his departure.

Absence of jealousy signals lack of love.

el conflicto en la pareja es la regla, no la excepción.

What do you want? The answer to that is both simple and very complicated. To sit down somewhere without worrying that he soon has to run off again. To talk to people who do not shun him. To smell the air exhaled by a woman. To eat the food she hands him and see the flutter of her hands as she talks. To go home.

We know this world intimately and that is its uncanniness. We cannot bear our knowledge.

We tell ourselves that intimacy (and marriage) takes two people who are willing to work at it-but, unfortunately, we rarely have the slightest inkling of our job assignments in this project.

Monogamy operates differently at different levels of differentiation. I didn't know this until I saw it with my clients. We think of monogamy as an ironclad agreement containing no ifs, ands, or buts. But it is really a complex system with rules and dynamics of its own. Differentiation changes monogamy by returning genital ownership to each partner. Emotional Siamese twins act as if their partner's genitals are communal property.

To spend your days in the company of naked men - that was the life for me.

Often I'd take out my magnifying glass and stare into the chaos that was her face. Most people would have found it grotesque, but when you're in love nothing is so abstract or horrible that it can't be thought of as cute.

Sometimes, when I find it hard to sleep, I'll think of when we first met, of the newness of each other's body, and my impatience to know everything about this person. Looking back, I should have taken it more slowly, measured him out over the course of fifty years rather than cramming him in so quickly.

One of the things we laughed about was an old episode of The Newlywed Game. The host asked the wives, "What's the most exotic place you've ever made love?" He was likely expecting "The kitchen" or "On a tennis court at night," but one woman didn't quite understand the question and answered, "In the butt.

I had discovered, or rediscoverd, that crying is a pleasure—that it can be a pleasure beyond all reckoning if your head is pressed in your mother's waist and her hands are on your back, and if she happens to be wearing clean clothes.

Randall, the gay alcoholic in the house next door, boldly peeps through my windows. 'Boy, you sure rock in that chair a lot,' he said last week, his face pressed against my screen. This time I was lying on my bed with Katherine's cats. I'm watching them while she's out of town. I can be very mushy, and he watched me kissing them and saying that all the other cats in the neighborhood were jealous of their beauty.

My confessions did nothing to alter this situation, but for the first time in my life I felt that somebody actually knew me. Three somebodies, to be exact. Two were roaming the highway in a Cadillac, doing God knows what with a CB radio, but the other was as close to me as my own skin, and I could now feel the undiluted pleasure of her company.

The real life of the party is flattened beneath the bed, taping actual sex encounters, not sitting cross-legged on the floor with a guitar, embarrassing himself and others.

Every day spent with you is like having a cesarean section.