Quotes About Intimacy

Contigo no tengo necesidad de vivir a la defensiva. Me siento feliz".

I still think that our best dialogue was between our glances.

estaba convencido de que enamorarse era algo más que una espontánea simpatía.

Informe sobre caricias               1   La caricia es un lenguaje si tus caricias me hablan no quisiera que se callen

sólo la complicidad puede salvarlos.

Nos habíamos tenido tanto afecto, era cierto. ¿Y eso qué? Probablemente no habíamos sabido nada el uno del otro. Una incapacidad de comunicación nos había mantenido a prudente distancia, postergando siempre el intercambio franco, generoso, para el cual, por otras razones, estábamos bien dotados.

El amor es uno de los elementos emblemáticos de la vida. Breve o extendido, espontáneo o minuciosamente construido, es de cualquier manera un apogeo en las relaciones humanas.

Porque si no pongo orden, todas tus imágenes se concentran en tu cuerpo, en vos y yo haciendo el amor.

el corazón es una cosa enorme que empieza en el estómago y acaba en la garganta.

De pormenor en pormenor vamos descubriendo el exterior y la intimidad, digamos el milímetro de universo que nos tocó en suerte. Y sólo entonces, cuando encontramos al muchacho o al vejestorio que lleva nuestro nombre, sólo entonces los pormenores suelen convertirse en pormayores.

Ella me daba la mano y no hacía falta más. Me alcanzaba para sentir que era bien acogido. Más que besarla, más que acostarnos juntos, más que ninguna otra cosa, ella me daba la mano y eso era amor.

Cada vez que te enamores no expliques a nadie nada, deja que el amor te invada sin entrar en pormenores

Qué buen insomnio si me desvelo sobre tu cuerpo

The sight made her ache. How can I not touch you? she thought hopelessly, and then she was doing it, her fingers on his wrist. He didn't jump or even look at her, just stopped writing. Neither one of them moved, nothing moved, and the whole thing lasted three or four seconds at most, but when Pen took her hand away and started to breathe again, her chest hurt, as though she had been holding her breath for a very long time.

Whatever word you use to describe diving into the deepest part of a human. Take your pick; they're all woefully inadequate, but they're also all we have.

He wasn't looking at her, was at such an oblique angle to her that his face was little more than a sliver, but she knew him at once. "It was like reading," she would try to explain later, and she wasn't talking about phonics. She didn't break him into syllables—shoulders, hair, shirt collar, hand, nose, cheekbone—and put him back together again; she didn't sound him out. He was a language she knew, and it was whole-word recognition: Will.

We were friends. It was as big a deal as being in love." She tried to think of a way to make Amelie understand. "It was a revelation, being friends like that. God, it was holy to me. But it wasn't being in love.

I know the pull of a dark, complicated man, the kind who has trouble loving anyone but you. But let me tell you this: the ones who look like home are home.

She feels like the subject of her sex life is a puppy or a ferret, something she'd never in her right mind let off its leash, but which is now somehow running amok among total strangers.

It was an answer I should have savored; instead, it gave rise to that moment. You know what I mean. The moment in a relationship in which at the same time you discover you've been floating in air for five and a half weeks, you also discover that your feet have dropped a little closer to the earth.

Juliet and Romeo be damned, you can't be in love until you've flossed your teeth next to the person at least three hundred times...

She'd found that she needed closeness and trust more than sex. Desire grew out of trust, not the other way round.

To be the mistress of a married man is to have the better role. Do you realize? His dirty shirt, his disgusting underwear, his daily ironing, his bad breath, his hemorrhoid attacks, his fuss, not to mention his bad moods, and his tantrums. Well all that is for his wife. When a married man comes to his mistress... he's always bleached and ironed, his teeth sparkle, his breath is like perfume, he's in a good mood, he's full of conversation, he is there to have a good time with you.

They were all people whom I either knew too well or whom I didn't wish to know at all...