Quotes About Intimacy

He must care for her and show her affection.

If you don't want to deal with things like guilt, shame and disappointment later on in life, then you'll have t start now by making choices that won't result in those things...tomorrow's regret depends on today's decisions. If you don't want to regret your physical intimacy tomorrow, then you'll have to be living in un-regrettable physical intimacy today.

The sweetness of his longing dives to a tender, bruised place in me.

he winks at her. The wink makes me think of

We suffer each other to have each other a while.

My tongue remembers your wounded flavor. The vein in my neck adores you. A sword stands up between my hips, my hidden fleece sends forth its scent of human oil.

Dwelling As though touching her might make him known to himself, as though his hand moving over her body might find who he is, as though he lay inside her, a country his hand's traveling uncovered, as though such a country arose continually up out of her to meet his hand's setting forth and setting forth. And the places on her body have no names. And she is what's immense about the night. And their clothes on the floor are arranged for forgetfulness.

There are words we say in the dark. There are words we speak in the light. And sometimes they're the same words.

I know moments measured by a kiss, or a tear, a pass of the hand along a loved one's face. —Li-Young Lee, from "Always a Rose," Rose (BOA Editions, Ltd., 1986)

Chase rolled his eyes. "You're such an idiot." "Yeah, but I'm your idiot." "Nothing to be too proud of." "For me it is." Alex leaned forward and kissed him. It was a brief press of lips, but hinted at the promise of something much deeper

I would know your scent anywhere. Even in the darkest night in the darkest room with a hundred other people." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Yes, Camille. I would know it. Always, I would know...you.

For a women to wear the clothes that a man had bought her was to feel his touch with every waking moment. For a man to hear the whisper of cloth as walked, was to feel her response to him, the throb of her pulse as it intensified, the silky heat between her thighs as waited for him to unwrap her.

He almost thought that if he held her, touched his mouth to hers, took in the breath as it left her body, he would feel it too, would begin to breathe again, feel again.

Her hair is tucked behind her ears, a few stray strands lazily brushing her cheek. I suddenly have the strongest sensation of wanting to reach out and curl them in place behind her ear.

I want to ask him if he thinks I can get used to being seen like this, being loved like this. I want to ask him why I can be myself around him. Why I still belong to myself around him.

Love isn't about sparks. It's about not wanting to be without someone...and feeling complete when you're with them.

The Sufi relates to God not as a judge, nor as a father figure, nor as the creator, but as our own Beloved, who is so close, so near, so tender. In the states of nearness the lover experiences an intimacy with the Beloved which carries the softness and ecstasy of love.

In the West we are so addicted to the notion of progress that we project this idea onto our spiritual life, and can become very confused by the dawning realization that He whom we seek is always with us, that we are always close to Him but do not know it. The spiritual path is a process of revealing this nearness, the intimacy of love that is always with us.

When we drift from a deep, intimate companionship with God, we become negative, critical, judgmental and recalcitrant. We resist the repeated overtures of God's love. Neutrality and detached aloofness eventually result. We become respectably unresponsive. It happens to all of us at times. The telltale signs are equivocation, vacillation and pretense.

Dreams are private, she said. And she is right. A dream is a story that no one else will get to hear or read.

Sex is the ... tremulous and bewildering and nerve-racking and delicious and myriad-adjectived soul-condition ... generally known as love. Ninety-nine point nine repeater percent of the world's literature has been devoted to its analysis. It's therefore of some importance.

Women are cats ... and love to scratch even those they're fond of. Sometimes the more they love them the harder they scratch.

Sex is a queer and incalculable solvent of human confidence.

The mere process of growing old together will make the slightest acquaintance seem a bosom friend.