Quotes About Intimacy

Look, girls and boys are different. Girls like to be touched twenty times a day in a nonsexual way to feel good about themselves - that is why I tickle you and link arms with you - but boys think about sex, snogging and football, and also snogging whilst playing football. Simple.

Loving sex is good for your physically, mentally, and emotionally. Regardless of this fact, if neither of you is interested in being sexual and you're not having sex, there is no problem. But if one of you is interested, then to be satisfied you both need to be involved.

The deepest moments of intimacy occur when you're not talking.

When sex is readily available, it becomes far less of an issue. The anxiety of deprivation is gone, the dread of making excuses is gone; the guilt of withholding is gone. Talk about a great way to improve your relationship without talking!

That's why I'm in love with you. You turn me on without even trying.

And as nearer and ever nearer I felt the throb of your tread, To be in the world grew dearer, And my blood ran rosier red.

If you love someone, everything else is crap.

I love to you" is more unusual than "I love you," but respects the two more: I love to who you are, to what you do, without reducing you to an object of my love.

What if our bodies were transparent, like a washing machine window? How wondrous to watch ourselves. Joggers would job even harder, blood pumping away. Lovers would love more. God damn! Look at that old semen go! Diets would improve-- kiwi fruit and strawberries, borscht with sour cream.

Y si nuestro cuerpo fuera transparente, como la puerta de una lavadora? Qué prodigio observarnos por dentro. Los deportistas correrían con más ahínco, bombeando sangre a toda máquina. Los amantes harían más el amor. ¡Hostia! ¡Mira esa descarga de semen! Las dietas mejorarían: kiwi y fresas, remolacha cocida con crema agria. (Del cuento Temps perdu)

and at night my dreams are full of the cursing of me fucking god fucking me.

Conversation has a kind of charm about it, an insuating and insidious something that elicits secrets from us just like love or liquor.

The whole world organizes itself around the fact that people manage to get their awkward bodies in position to fuck, an achievement honored by toasters, tandems, and tax cuts.

She didn't say she loved him then. She said it later that night, when he was breathing deeply beside her, the sleep of peace and satiety, as he always did when they'd released each other from passion by indulging it without limit. He slept heavily, so she could smooth his hair, kiss him without his knowing, and whisper the words she didn't know how to say when he heard her. "Tuscan Tycoon's Wife

It was like a horse, really. The trick was not to grab, but to caress. "Tuscan Tycoon's Wife

But if a woman will not share her body with a man, how can she expect him to share her infatuation with a few grans of sand and a lot of sea and sky?

But if a woman will not share her body with a man, how can she expect him to share her infatuation with a few grains of sand and a lot of sea and sky?

Ethan: "Abstaining definitely doesn't work." Beth: "what do you suggest?" Ethan: "We're obviously going to have to make love often, but keep the encounters from getting too intense." He sounded perfectly serious, like he really believed what he was saying.

He touched her in that place that was for him alone and shuddered at her readiness for him.  Had she gotten this wet, this quickly?

Wie Du mich auch liebst, stärker liebe ich Dich doch. Doch nie verberge Dich vor mir.

Can't you hear it? you said. When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.

She's not like anyone I've ever seen before. When I'm not with her, I want to be. And when she opens the book and I see her face, I can barely remember what I'm supposed to say, much less how to speak at all. I think I might be in love with her.

So much of marriage was implicit and nonverbal. Had I gotten so complacent I'd forgotten to communicate?

It feels like we are sitting on the tight bench of a bus with a stranger between us, one that neither of us is willing to admit or mention, and so we find ourselves talking around him and through him and sneaking glances when the other one isn't looking.