Quotes About Intimacy

Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is thread, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years.

Love is wonderful, but in the end you're better off with a man who's there for you.

Si può chiamare anche zito, ma uno zito particolare, che marito non ci diventa mai. Non è cosa per tutti, ma a noi due basta e avanza così com'è: un tipo di innamurato che dà cuntintizza ed è questo che importa, la cuntintizza.

It's only since we've had Steve with us that I've realized how much of himself a man has to give before he's really possessed. I used to think it was possession because we lived together as man and wife. I didn't know how little it can amount to wanting a woman at night, putting up with her in the daytime.

Be a bedroom suite breaker, not a heartbreaker.

Shield your heart from being stabbed, by giving it to no one.

The only time we are complete, is when we have the ones that loves us truly.

We fall in love in favor of sexual urges.

Reading someone else's newspaper is like sleeping with someone else's wife. Nothing seems to be precisely in the right place, and when you find what you are looking for, it is not clear then how to respond to it.

They flee from me, that sometime did me seekWith naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

Libraries are sexual dream factories. The langour brings it on.

under our love making I felt a bleakness that couldnt be dispelled. The sadness was in both of us, and I think we pitied ourselves that night, as if we were other people looking down on the couple who lay together on the bed

Six months isn't such a long time. That's how long it's been since I came to see you in May, but the fact is it's been much longer than that. We've spent years living inside each other.

I move through it like a phantom, and I have begun to wonder what actually happens in our brains when we return to half-remembered places. What is memory's perspective? Does the man revise the boy's view or is the imprint relatively static, a vestige of what was once intimately known?

I didn't know exactly what to say. "Rush" is a word that pretty much covered every initial sexual encounter I had ever had in my life. and the fact that these two young people felt it necessary to deliberate over sex made me feel a little sad. I have known women who withdrew from me at the last moment and women who regretted their passion the next morning, but a precoital committee meeting had never been a part of my experience.

Quizás has guardado un secreto en el corazón que debido a todo su goce o dolor considerabas demasiado precioso para compartirlo con otra persona.

In the past I had given myself up to ephemeral pleasures, falling into bed with near strangers, and had no regrets. But those encounters had been simple. With George, I was lost - like a person in another country who can't read the signs. And George had taken the advantage. By claiming that I, unlike he, was intelligible - an open book - he had made me vulnerable.

There were many books inside me by then, and yet these jolted me with their originality. I met the man before I read what he had written, but if I had not loved his work as I did or if he had not admired my writing, it would have changed things. Our work has been an intimate part of our love affair and marriage for twenty-three years, but what I read wasn't then and isn't now what I know when I'm with him. His work comes from the place in him I can't know.

Erotic pleasure, derived from the most intimate physical contact, thrives on the paradox that only by keeping alive the strangeness of that other person can eroticism last.

The attraction remains because there is something about him that I can't reach, something strange and estranging. I like seeing him from a distance. I know that. I like to see him in a room full of people when he looks like a stranger, and then to remember that I do know him and that I will be going home with him.

Love affairs and marriages stand or fall on this secret. Familiarity and the pedestrian realities of everyday life are the enemies of eros.

I don't want the words to be naked the way they are in faxes or in the computer. I want them to be covered by an envelope that you have to rip open in order to get at. I want there to be a waiting time -a pause between the writing and the reading. I want us to be careful about what we say to each other. I want the miles between us to be real and long. This will be our law -that we write our dailiness and our suffering very, very carefully.

She said 'I love you' as if it were a secret, and an immense one.

It's you my love, you who are the stranger.