Quotes About Intimacy

He loved but he did not know how to be loved.

Did you think I wouldn't know you? That I don't carry the imprint of you burned into my skin?" he demanded in a low, furious voice.

she was as unused to seeing tenderness in a man's eyes as she was to being caught off guard. Admiration? Amusement? Yes. Even desire. But those looks could be leveled at any inanimate object: a beautiful painting, a political cartoon, a French postcard. Tenderness was far more intimate, reserved for beings, not things.

He turned around to look at the house. Elspeth was behind one of the vellum-covered windows. Did she wonder where he was? If it had been high summer and the windows left uncovered to let in a breeze, would she have peeked out at him as he stood on the shoal, naked as God made him? He soaped up his groin. Just the thought that Elspeth might spy on him at his bath made part of him happier than it ought to be, considering the temperature.

She smelled faintly of heather and evergreen boughs. Scent was an extravagance. He wondered where she dabbed the fragrant oil. The thin skin of her wrists? The pulse point at her white throat? Or maybe in the sweet hollow between her breasts? Thinking about all of those soft, forbidden places made him feel rampantly, throbbingly male. He wanted to search out those tender spots, bury his nose in them, and lave them with his tongue.

we are betrayed in the very same close relationships where primal trust is possible. We can be truly betrayed only where we truly trust—by brothers, lovers, wives, husbands, not by enemies, not by strangers. The greater the love, the greater the betrayal. Trust has in it the seed of betrayal.

Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.

My veins are afire with music, her eyes have kissed me, my body is turned to light; I shall dream to her secret heart tonight.

It's time to make love, douse the glim; The fireflies twinkle and dim; The stars lean together Like birds of a feather, And the loin lies down with the limb.

Music I heard with you was more than music. And bread I broke with you was more than bread.

So, talking with my first wife, At the dark end of evening, when she leaned And smiled at me, with blue eyes weaving webs Of finest fire, revolving me in scarlet,-- Calling to mind remote and small successions Of countless other evenings ending so,-- I smiled, and met her kiss, and wished her dead

Will other women possess you?" she asked breathlessly. He turned his cheek and rested it against hers as he started moving slowly inside her. "I have never been possessed . . . until now," he said in a deep voice. "You have entered my blood, and nothing I can do will wipe your memory away.

She touched something deep inside him, and he wanted nothing more than to stand between her and any trouble that might come her way.

A plange e o impudoare la fel de mare ca a te arata gol-pusca. Larimile sunt mai intime decat pielea.

Vuelve a menudo y tómame, en la noche, cuando los labios y la piel recuerdan...

What does kissing really mean to me? To me, if you feel, when you kiss a girl, that certain feeling of all those dolphins, like, swimming through your blood stream, and you get those good tingles inside your stomach, I don't think there's any better feeling.

It wasn't an attack. We'd been together too many times before, made love together too many times before, for it to be that. It was just that fear had suddenly entered, and made us dangerous strangers. ("New York Blues")

And then finally she came - and the whole world faded out around us and we were just alone on the crowded sidewalk. I've heard it called love. ("I Won't Take a Minute" aka "I'll Just Be a Minute" aka "Wait for Me Downstairs" aka "Finger Of Doom")

He was standing by the window, looking down, when I went in. Even the sight of his back, sloping a little at the top with the inclination of his head, did something to me. And anyone that can love a back, can love. ("Don't Wait Up For Me Tonight")

How do you go about finding out who the best-loved woman in a guy's life is? Ask him?

and uncared for. Nor could I see the necessity for the complete undressing:

Once you get to naming your laptop, you know that you're really having a deep relationship with it.

The language of love letters is the same as suicide notes.

No boyfriend?" he asked. "Nope," she said. "I don't mind being alone." But the words didn't ring true. She added, quietly, "People just can't be trusted.