Quotes About Intimacy

I exposed every part of myself to him, keeping no secrets, no defense mechanism in place.

We all agree that there is no bright-line litmus test for what works in marriage, or what happiness looks like. That it all comes down to the two people inside the relationship.

A really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul.

I desperately want to feel that way again. To be in a relationship that I'm not trying to script or water down. It's about wanting something real—even if it's messy and complicated.

Every couple has two stories - the edited one to be shared from the couch and the unabridged version best left alone.

If I had to, I'd fight it like death itself. But with you, I don't have to.

Gonna see if Meg's here," Eddi whispered. "Go back to sleep." "I doubt if I can. But if you prefer it, I can lie here and be still." "Probably a good idea." Eddi grinned and kissed his nose. "She thinks you're full of nonsense." "She's lamentably ignorant of my better qualities." "You mean she hasn't seen you with your clothes off?" Eddi thought he blushed.

They held each other in silence, and he buried his face in her hair. "Do what you can, my primrose," he whispered at last. "I love my life better than I ever have, now that it's at risk. But even so, I love you better still.

What this good man had sworn to protect me from was not the same as what I feared. I trusted that he would never let anything hurt me, but he would never let anything touch me either.

One couldn't pick whom to love, thought Anne, The woman beside her was friend and sister and lover and many things besides. One could only hope to recognise love where it grew, and get a grip on it and hold on.

Bridie and I turned to each other. Oh, the secrecy and heat of that glance.

Neither of us mentioned the kissing, so as not to burst the bubble by touching it. So as not to think about what it meant for the two of us to kiss.

He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.

Men and the pursuit of them are strongly intertwined with my mental health. I would say, in my defensive defense, that the problem with being a serial monogamist is, there isn't anybody random or unimportant: everybody you sleep with really means something, which is to say each of them is on your public record. At some point I wake up thinking, Fuck this! I don't want another man in my bed ever again. What I really want is a cat.

And then, with the feather-green darkness pressed against the windows, he puts his filthy fingers on my scrubbed hope face and says, If I kiss you, it's all over. And then he does. And then it is.

Hotel rooms are funny things. They make everything look different. If people have to sleep with each other, sexually or platonically, they should do it in kitchens. The kitchen is the epicenter of truth in any home or building. You could never misconstrue a look or a word or a touch in the icy cool, compartmentalized presence of a fridge.

No one knows we're there, no one sees us. We never leave the room. I think about the secret voice you use when you make love. No one but that person will ever hear it. And here, we listen to each other, but we lock it in with touch, and the room vacuum seals it to stay fresh until we can breathe together again. When he breaks the silence it is to say, I want you to know that, when you get pregnant, nothing is going to change except your dress size.

All unnatural unions which are not hallowed by love are prostitution.

Shooting Willoughby carrying Marianne up the path. ... Male strength -- the desire to be cradled again? ... I'd love someone to pick me up and carry me off. Frightening. Lindsay assures me I'd start to fidget after a while. She's such a comfort.

into his eyes. 'They don't

It's all right,' said Julian, putting his arm round Anne.

Meg and Belch only had eyes for each other. Not in the usual romantic sense.

Artemis en Holly stonden in hun ondergoed naast elkaar en haakten voorzichtig hun vingers ineen... 'Dan verklaar ik jullie hierbij...

There are no chaste minds. Minds copulate wherever they meet.