Quotes About Intimacy

La primera pareja humana, creada en un jardín el sexto día, tuvo por encima de ella la primera noche inconmensurable. Sin saberlo elllos, despuntó en sus cuerpos el apetito, la sed, el entusiasmo y el soeño. (...) no sabian si regresaría el sol, de modo que se abrazaron. Las bocas se vieron juntas e inventaron el beso, el primer fruto del conocimiento.

El amor seria una parada breve entre dos aislamientos. Hoy pienso en un tiempo final en común con una mujer, con la que coincidir como lo hacen las rimas, al término de una palabra.

Ci si innamora così, cercando nella persona amata il punto a nessuno rivelato, che è dato in dono solo a chi scruta, ascolta con amore. Ci si innamora da vicino, ma non troppo, ci si innamora da un angolo acuto un poco in disparte in una stanza, presso una tavolata, seduto in un giardino dove gli altri ballano al ritmo di una musichetta insulsa e decisiva che fa da colla di pesce per una faccia che si appunta a spilli sul diaframma del petto.

Il volersi bene si costruisce. Ma l'amore quello vero, no. L'amore lo senti immediato, non ha tempo. É dire "ti sento". Un contatto di pelle, un abbraccio, un bacio. Mantenersi, il mio verbo preferito, tenersi per mano. Ti può bastare per la vita intera, un attimo, un incontro. Rinunciarvi è folle,sempre e comunque.

Era così bellissima vicina, le labbra appena aperte. Mi commuovono quelle di una donna, nude quando si accostano a baciare, si spogliano di tutto, dalle parole, in giù. "Chiudi questi benedetti occhi di pesce" "Ma non posso. Se tu vedessi quello che vedo io, non li potresti chiudere" "Da dove ti spuntano questi complimenti, piccolo giovanotto?" "Che complimenti ? Dico quello che vedo".

Now We Think Now we think as we fuck this nut might kill us. There might be a pin-sized hole in the condom. A lethal leak. We stop kissing tall dark strangers, sucking mustaches, putting lips tongues everywhere. We return to pictures. Telephones. Toys. Recent lovers. Private lives. Now we think as we fuck this nut might kill. this kiss could turn to stone.

When he cannot sleep, he reads poetry to me. His deep voice covers the top half of my sky—

What is the relationship between love and desire? How do they relate, and how do they conflict? … Therein lies the mystery of eroticism.

The very ingredients that nurture love — mutuality, reciprocity, protection, worry, responsibility for the other — are sometimes the very ingredients that stifle desire.

'When I look at my partner radiant and confident,' — [that's] probably the biggest turn-on across the board.

Love rests on two pillars: surrender and autonomy. Our need for togetherness exists alongside our need for separateness.

Love is a vessel that contains both security and adventure, and commitment offers one of the great luxuries of life: time. Marriage is not the end of romance, it is the beginning.

Everyone should cultivate a secret garden.

It's hard to feel attracted to someone who has abandoned her sense of autonomy.

Trouble looms when monogamy is no longer a free expression of loyalty but a form of enforced compliance.

Eroticism thrives in the space between the self and the other.

It's hard to experience desire when you're weighted down by concern.

We no longer plow the land together; today we talk. We have come to glorify verbal communication. I speak; therefore I am. We naively believe that the essence of who we are is most accurately conveyed through words.

Monogamy used to mean one person for life. Now monogamy means one person at a time.

Love is the religion with the smallest congregation...for compared to other religions, God and devotee were in this case at a ratio of one to one...

It's amazing how people can sound like retards when they're talking to their girlfriend, especially if they really love her a lot. Because when you're just fucking someone you make a point of keeping your cool, but when you're really in love - it can sound pretty repulsive.

For three months, a person sits and looks at you, imagining a kiss.

I think she cried at my funeral. It's not that I'm conceited or anything, but I'm pretty sure. Sometimes I can actually picture her talking about me to some guy she feels close to. Talking about me dying. About how they lowered me into the grave, kind of shrivelled up and pitiful, like an old chocolate bar. About how we never really got a chance. And afterwards the guy fucks her, a fuck that's all about making her feel better.

It was never in my dreams to make my personal life anybody else's business.