Quotes About Intimacy

I realize that I quite like this girl. It's not just that she's so pretty the words fly out of my mind before they can leave my mouth—it's that when we're chatting, I feel like I've known her all my life.

When you love someone, there's a pattern to the way you come together. You might not even realize it, but your bodies are choreographed: a touch on the hip, a stroke of the hair. A staccato kiss, break away, a longer one. It's a routine, but not in the boring sense of the word. It's just the way you've learned to fit.

Like Connor, Alex protected me -and he was the only person I let close enough to do it. Like Connor, Alex could finish my sentences before I did. But unlike Connor, for whom I had ultimately come too late, I was just in time to take care of Alex.

the arms of his swim team sweatshirt still wrapped around the pillow on the bed - Em had said it smelled of him.

Isn't that what true romance is supposed to be about? Finding the person who's your soul mate. Someone you dream about at night. Someone whose name is on your lips when you wake up in the morning.

Have you ever really held the hand of someone you love? Not just in passing, a loose link between you—but truly clasped, with the pulses of your wrists beating together and your fingers mapping the knuckles and nails like s cartographer learning a country by heart?

She touched him and found that even something as innocent as the lacing of their fingers could raise all the hairs on the back of her neck and make her blood beat faster.

When he smiles at me, I'm lost

I know the first person I kissed won't be nearly as important as the last person I kiss.

I love the way he smelled whenever his head dipped close to hear what I was saying—like the sun striking th cheek of a tomato, or soap drying in the hood of a car. I loved the way his hand felt on my spine. I loved.

My mother and Joe have a lovers' shorthand, an economy of gestures that comes when you are close enough to someone to speak their language. I wonder if my mother and father ever had that, or if my mother was always just trying to decipher him.

They sat in the companionable awkwardness caused by knowing extremely private things about each other that had never been directly confided.

How do you undo intimacy? How do you go back to being acquaintances, when the other person knows every inch and groove of you, every irrational fear, every trigger?

you even put into words the confession that you made a mistake, that you want to turn back time and try again? How do you say it without hurting the people who have been sitting across from you at the breakfast table for fifteen years, who know your Starbucks order and which side of the bed to leave you at a hotel?

He swaggered over to my mother, and kissed her so long and slow that my own cheeks started to burn, because I was sure the neighbors would see. When he lifted his head, my mother's eyes were a color I had never seen before and don't think I have ever seen again.

Because when you get right down to it, the only person you should trust is the one you'd lay down your life for.

When you let people into the inner sanctum of your life, you risk having them see the heart of you.

How could he describe how it felt when she finished his sentences, turned the mug they were sharing so that her mouth landed where his had been? How did he explain the way they could be in a locker room, or underwater, or in the piney woods of Maine, but as long as Em was with him, he was at home?

She knew how you went about falling in love; she did not know how you went about falling into trust.

Have you ever really held the hand of someone you love? Not just in passing, a loose link between you-but truly clasped, with the pulses of your wrists beating together and your fingers mapping the knuckles and nails like a cartographer learning a country by heart?

She was the only one for whom the house didn't have to be cleaned, for whom she didn't have to wear her makeup, and around whom she could say anything without fear of repercussions, or of looking truly stupid.

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

It was one of those moments where I knew we were not having the conversation that we needed to be having. And since I didn't really know what to say, never having crossed this particular bridge between thought and deed before, I pressed my and against the thick ridge in his pants. He backed away from me.

He doesn't look people in the eye. He says that's how someone can steal your soul. Amen to that.