Quotes About Intimacy

Hugo y yo nos entregamos totalmente el uno al otro. No podemos estar el uno sin el otro, no soportamos la discordia, la guerra, el alejamiento, no podemos dar paseos solos, no nos gusta viajar sin el otro. Nos hemos entregado a pesar de nuestro individualismo, de nuestra aversión a la intimidad. Nuestro amor ha absorbido nuestro egocentrismo. Nuestro amor es nuestro ego.

You blush before your tenderness.

I like the hungry wat she looks at me

I like the hungry way she looks at me

I want to fall in love in such a way that the mere sight of a man, even a block away from me, will shake and pierce me, will weaken me, and make me tremble and soften and melt

I haven't yet learned to call you by your first name, and Miss Nin sounds so stiff, like an invitation to tea.

Sunt dou? moduri de a ajunge la mine, prin s?ruturi sau prin imagina?ie.

Somehow in the whore the cold womb, constantly subjected to desire, produces a phenomenon. All the eroticism comes to the surface. The constant living with a penis inside of one does something fascinating to a woman. The womb seems to be exposed, to be present in every aspect of her.

Él cuenta con que yo entenderé, porque yo, como él, soy escritora. He de saber. Debe estar claro para mí. Para su sorpresa, le digo exactamente lo que tú dices: «No es lo mismo.» Hay un mundo eternamente cerrado para él, el mundo que contiene nuestras conversaciones abstractas, nuestros besos, nuestros éxtasis.

Anaïs, it makes me weep, your Journal. It makes me love you beyond words.

To love anything, to appreciate anything, one has to live with it. Otherwise it has no meaning, no beauty.

Henry:] Je pense à toi tous le temps.

I am a child compared to you, because when the womb in you speaks it enfolds everything—it is the darkness I adore.

A veces, June, tengo que imaginar que estás ahí. Tengo la sensación de que quiero ser tú. Antes nunca había querido ser nadie más que yo. Ahora quiero fundirme en ti, estar tan cerca de ti que mi propio ser desaparezca.

You don't know what sensuality is. Hugo and I do. It's in us, not in your devious practices; it's in feeling, in passion, in love.

I divined her life at that moment. She only believed in intimacy and proximity, in confessions born in the darkness of a bedroom, in quarrels born of alcohol, in communions born of exhausting walks through the city. She only believed in those words that came like the confessions of criminals after a long exposure to hunger, to intense lights, to cross-questioning, to violent tearing away of masks.

Es cierto, como dice Hugo, que yo llevo mis pensamientos y especulaciones al diario y que él sólo es consciente del dolor que puedo causarle cuando ocurre algún incidente. Sin embargo, yo soy su diario. Sólo es capaz de pensar en voz alta conmigo o a través mío.

We give to our friends only a small part of ourselves. In the climate of love another being emerges.

Hay dos modos de llegar a mí, mediante los besos o la imaginación. Pero existe una jerarquía; los besos por sí solos no bastan.

The Spaniard does not give his mind and soul to the woman! The Spaniard is the man who associates with man only in the building of a world.

I love the sharing. I feel with extraordinary vividness your presence, as if you were reading with me. I actually experience again the sensation of my leaning over your shoulder and kissing your hair and neck while you are reading or writing.

When I saw you . . . I chose my body.

People are miserable and tense because they don't make love enough.

What corrodes a love are the secrets.