Quotes About Intimacy

Please don't look at me like that," she whispered. "Like what?" "Like you love me." His heart stopped. Just stopped. "I think I do," he said.

There is no more lovely, friendly, and charming relationship, communion, or company than a good marriage.

No marriage is offense free. Two sinful people living together have lots of opportunity for heartfelt apology.

Love is a feeling; romance is love in action."*

We want to issue a challenge to you: Pray together for your marriage each day for sixty days. If sixty days seems too long, commit to thirty.

The only thing that a critical spirit, nagging, and negativity bring to a relationship is lack of intimacy. Many people were raised in homes where "shame-based parenting" was the rule rather than the exception. For many, there is a natural tendency to focus on the negative side of life, but that just doesn't work in relationships. There is incredible power in encouragement and affirmation. Mark Twain once said, "I can live two months on one good compliment.

Love is another kind of power, which shouldn't surprise you. Magic comes from emotions, among other things. And when two people are together, in that intimacy, when they really, selflessly love each other it changes them both. It lingers on in the energy of their lives, even when they are apart.

It isn't complicated. You just open up and let someone in. And whatever comes after that, you face it together.

This is what is going to happen, Aleran. You will no longer lie with me. You will treat me in exactly the fashion that you would any proper young lady of the Citizenry. You will court me, and do it well, or so help me I will strangle the life from you. Um, Tavi said. And, she said, a massively threatening quality in her tone, you will court me properly after the ways of my people. You will do so with legendary skill and taste. And only when that is done will we share a bed once more.

You almost got yourself killed, she said, but her voice had softened a few shades. I noticed that she hadn't moved her hand from the other side of Billy's chest and he was looking up at her with an expectant expression. She fell silent, and they stared at one another for a minute. I saw her swallow. Please help me. Young werewolves in love.

I trust you," she said. Three words. Big ones. Especially coming from her.

My God, there are times when the sexiest thing a woman can give a man is permission.

Nearly everyone underestimates how powerful the touch of another person's hand can be. The need to be touched is something so primal, so fundamentally a part of our existence as human beings that its true impact upon us can be difficult to put into words.

She kissed me again, and I returned it in kind, and it was a liquid, smooth thing, as restrained and desperate as the near-still surface of a rushing river.

Bernard had become, not so much important to her as he was natural to her whole being. He was as much a part of her thoughts as breath, food, and sleep. At once present and not present, conspicuous with his absence and filling her with a sense of completion when he was there.

It was more than that, too. There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares.

Just a hint," she pressed. "A word of comment. Something shared between two people who are very attracted to one another." "Which two people would that be?

I wanted to drive her mad with need, to fill my senses with her warmth, her cries, her scent. I wanted to forget everything arrayed against me, even if it was just for a little while, and bare her an inch at a time. The emptiness that her warmth had begun to fill howled at me to let go.

There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand a silent, reflex-deep affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares.

Walk up to someone without speaking, and look them in the eyes. There's a certain amount of leeway for a second, or two, or three. And then there's a distinct sensation of sudden contact, of intimacy.

What if . . ." I swallowed. "What if that's me, one day? What if that's what I'm like?" "There's a difference between you and him," Murph said. "Yeah?" She moved a bit, leaned down, and kissed my forehead. "Yeah. You've got me.

Loneliness is a hard thing to handle. I feel it, sometimes. When I do, I want it to end. Sometimes, when you're near someone, when you touch them on some level that is deeper than the uselessly structured formality of casual civilized interaction, there's a sense of satisfaction in it. Or at least, there is for me.

There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares. It seemed that, lately, I had barely been touched at all.

And believe me, next to sex, washing and styling a woman's hair is about as intimate as you can get with her.