Quotes About Intimacy

I have spent more nights with Roberto Carlos than all of the women I have been married to put together.

I'm just like everyone. I like to feel togetherness with someone.

You learn a lot about people when you're sitting on their bathroom floor or on their toilet seat, rifling through their stuff.

Now, as husbands go, I have to admit I did all right. Joe is unquestionably handsome, doesn't leave ragged toenail clippings scattered about the house, and has never once, in nearly five thousand days of togetherness, left the toilet seat up.

I just played at a club in L.A. called the Baked Potato. It fits like 90 people. It's like playing somewhere in a basement in, like, Indiana or somewhere where all your friends show up. It's really fun and there's a very different energy to that than to play to 50,000 at a Tokyo baseball stadium.

Globalisation has obliterated distance, not just physically but also, most dangerously, mentally. It creates the illusion of intimacy when, in fact, the mental distances have changed little. It has concertinaed the world without engendering the necessary respect, recognition and tolerance that must accompany it.

My marriage is far from perfect. We're not hand-holdy and soft. We are snippy and bickery. We sleep in separate beds because we have no tolerance of each other's night-time idiosyncrasies.

Your home should be your home. People shouldn't be allowed to use whatever crazy lenses they use to catch you waking up in the morning.

I was beginning to see, though, that the unknown wasn't always the greatest thing to fear. The people who know you best can be risker, because the words they say and things they think have the potential to be not only scary but true, as well.

Love is needing someone. Love is putting up with someone's bad qualities because they somehow complete you.

She has never liked sleeping alone. Even as a small child, she would steel herself to brave the black soup of the room as far as her brother's bed, creeping in beside him. And he, who when awake would rather fight than talk, would put his arms around her and stroke her hair until their warmness mingled and she fell asleep.

Vita's relationship with Virginia, which began shortly after, was of a different calibre – a relationship in which both Harold Nicolson and Virginia's husband Leonard were supportive presences. The bond that endured between those two women was predominantly, though not exclusively, one of the heart, and of the mind.

You didn't understand what he was saying, until he kissed you. It was a kiss of such complicity, of such uncomplicated sympathy, that you felt for the first time not alone in your suffering.

You've found that there is something that can make you feel, and make you feel present: sex. Not the routine, dusk-and-dawn sex of a trusted, established relationship, but illicit, dangerous sex. Sex that is novel and leaves you sore; that is experienced in the gaps between your mundane, moral life; that is strange and breathless and addictive.

The two of you are different now, calmer. There is still sex, occasionally, but is no longer a priority to seduce or be seduced by him.

Lipstick never lasted long when they were together; he would always kiss her after she had applied it, as if he liked the smearing viscous sensation. Sometimes she felt sure it was discomposing her that he enjoyed.

It didn't feel like sex. It felt like the absolute necessity to mate, lion with lioness, an affirmation of life.

I hope you never understand, because I like you. I like you, I like you.

I've never in my life had a problem giving another person what they want. But no one's ever been able to do that for me. No one touches me, no one gets near me. But now you've touched me somewhere so fucking deep I can't believe and I can't be that for you. Because I can't find you.

We made love, and then she threw up.

Phaedra: I wanted to see your face when you came. Hippolytus: Why? Phaedra: I'd like to see you lose yourself. Hippolytus: It's not a pleasant sight. Phaedra: Why, what do you look like? Hippolytus: Every other stupid fucker.

and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me...

I am jealous of my sleeping lover and cover his induced unconsciousness.

Long before I had the chance to adore all of you, I adored the bits of you I could see.