Quotes About Intimacy

Sex pleasure in women is a kind of magic spell; it demands complete abandon; if words or movements oppose the magic of caresses, the spell is broken.

You said something very true the other day: that for us, nudity begins with the face.

I was no longer a vacant mind, an abstracted gaze, but the turbulent fragrance of the waving grain, the intimate smell of the heather moors, the dense heat of noon or the shiver of twilight; I was heavy; yet I was as vapour in the blue airs of summer and knew no bounds.

We have seen that it is possible to escape the temptations of sadism and masochism when both partners recognize each other as equals; as soon as there is a little modesty and some generosity between men and women, ideas of victory and defeat are abolished: the act of love becomes a free exchange.

Maar er bestaat een te groot misverstand tussen ons. Je hebt nooit getracht mijn leven te delen, je hebt me enkel voor jezelf liefgehad.

Poder conversar é uma grande sorte, disse ela. É compreensível que, nos casais que não sabem se aproveitar das palavras, os mal-entendidos formem bolas de neve e acabem por estragar tudo entre eles.

Jealousy is not contemptible real love has a beak and claws.

Ils tenaient beaucoup à respecter les nuances de leurs rapports. Une amitié est un délicat édifice; elle s'accommode de certains partages mais elle réclame aussi des monopoles. Chacune des combinaisons que nous formions - à deux, à trois, à quatre - avait sa physionomie et ses agréments: il convenait de ne pas sacrifier cette diversité.

En todo acto sexual esta implicado lo Otro, y su rostro más habitual es el de la mujer.

I have so much love in me that I would like to cry;

In amorous passion particularly, one does not want the beloved being to be admired objectively; one prefers to think her unknown, unrecognized; the lover thinks that his appropriation of her is greater if he is alone in revealing her worth. That is the genuine thing offered by all passion.

The centre of the world is no longer where she is but where her beloved is; all roads leave from and lead to his house. She uses his words and repeats his gestures, adopts his maniacs and tics. 'I am Heathcliff,' says Catherine in Wuthering Heights; this is the cry of all women in love; she is another incarnation of the beloved, his reflection, his double: she is he. She lets her own world flounder in contingence. She lives in his universe.

Friendship is not to be sought, not to be dreamed, not to be desired; it is to be exercised (it is a virtue).

Sleep with me sleep with my dogs-

She was close in her husband's arms; she clung to him; whatever of strangeness and slowness and insularity she might find in him, none of that mattered so long as she could slip her hands beneath his coat, run her fingers over the warm smoothness of the satin back of his waistcoat, seem almost to creep into his body, find in him strength, find in the courage and kindness of her man a shelter from the perplexing world.

Of the love-making of Carol and Will Kennicott there is nothing to be told which may not be heard on every summer evening, on every shadowy block.

Carol was discovering that the one thing that can be more disconcerting than intelligent hatred is demanding love.

Oh, well, Doremus reflected, he had lived with Emma for thirty-four years, and not oftener than once or twice a year had he wanted to murder her.

He held her lightly enough and, after the chaste custom of the era, his hands were gloved. But his finger- tips felt a current from her body. He knew that she was the most exquisite child in the world; he knew that he was going to marry her and keep her forever in a shrine; he knew that after years of puzzled wonder about the purpose of life, he had found it.

I love and am loved by a better man than he.

They knew each other very well--so well that they could sit now in that soothing silence which is the very highest development of companionship.

A re you going to kiss me now or what?" I finally blurted out. "No," he said. "Then why is your face like two inches away from mine?" I asked. "I just like to look at you," he said seriously. "I want to look at you." His expression was almost pained.

His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.

You cold?' He chafes my arms. I haven't been cold since I moved here. This is something else. 'No. But you can put your arms around me anyway.