Quotes About Intimacy

Although, actually, what more-momentous instant is there in life than being in bed with the person you feel is right? Really, really right?

Some time in the early hours of the morning, I find myself staring at him in the dim bedroom light, at the strong, lithe form of him. His back has a curve to it like the sweep of a boat. I steal out a hand to stroke it, wondering whether he's awake, when he turns and his eyes glint at me. "Do you sail?" I say, half sleepily. "No. Used to row, though." "Huh." I nod my head: That makes sense.

If love is easy, then you're not doing it right. Tilda

We've always been that couple. Blended. Intertwined. We read each other's thoughts. We finished each other's sentences. I thought we couldn't surprise each other anymore.

We're us, he murmurs in my ear. We're us again.

However well we got to know each other, there was always a magic. A mystery. We could lie in bed looking silently at each other, not needing to speak. Joe's eyes were never boring. He was never boring.

If love is easy…" I hesitate. "You're not doing it right.

All those hours spent together, playing, talking, laughing, lovemaking... I should know him by now, surely. I should know the secret, vulnerable corners of his brain. Shouldn't I? But then, he did always keep part of himself hidden away, I remind myself. As though he couldn't trust it with anyone, not even me.

She's gazing up at Eddie as though no one else exists, and I suddenly feel a little pang. They really are in love. I can see the antagonism slowly melting away in their eyes. It's like witnessing a chemical reaction in a test tube.

I don't know what magic has brought him here. My brain can't function well enough; I can't make sense of it. But he's here. And his eyes are telling me that they love me.

Frusture is my word for the exquisite fury that only your husband can give you. Not only are you furious, you feel like he's doing it all on purpose, in order to torment you.

For all that I loved him, I never got to the core of Joe. I never reached his innermost Russian doll. He always kept a part of himself locked well away.

He pauses to stretch out his fingers and I'm suddenly transfixed by his hands. Hands which used to roam over me, caress me, make love to me. I know how much emotional intelligence is in those hands. I know how he balances thoughtful, cerebral caution with audacious risk-taking, all without a flicker.

Frusture is my word for the exquisite fury that only your husband can give you. Not only are you furious, you feel like he's doing it all on purpose, in order

All my care is you, and all my pleasure yours.

he came to know the god intimately and the strange mad flower of his mind dripped in the dark

Oh my love take me there. Let me dwell where you are. I am already nothing, I am already burning. Oh my love, I was once part of you—take me too!

Just as in earthly life lovers long for the moment when they are able to breath forth their love for each other, to let their souls blend in a soft whisper, so the mystic longs for the moment when in prayer he can, as it were, creep into God

Tenía una confidente íntima -mi melancolía-, y en medio de mi alegría, en medio de mi trabajo, ella me atrae, me llama a un lado aunque físicamente yo permanezca en el lugar. Es la más fiel amante que haya conocido.... Søren Kierkegaard's Journals and Papers

two people can sleep in the same bed and still be alone when they close their eyes

And once again we plighted our troth, And titter'd, caress'd, kiss'd so dearly.

By giving words to these intimate experiences I can make my life available to others.

I don't feel I owe my readers details of my family's private life.

A studio, like a poem, is an intimacy and a freedom you can look out from, into each part of your life and a little beyond.