Quotes About Intimacy

Because love is so enormous, the only thing you can think of doing is swallowing the person that you love entirely.

Love is proud of itself. It leaks out of us even with the tightest security.

Great lovers realize that they are what they are in love with.

Love isn't how well you know someone, it is how they make you feel.

You meet someone, you care for them, and you fall in love; it's what it is.

Love is a condition where the world seems to be standing still, and it's you who are spinning on your axis.

Love, if you love me, lie next to me. Be for me, like rain, the getting out of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi- lust of intentional indifference. Be wet with a decent happiness.

In love's country, language doesn't have its place. Love is mute.

Be drunk with Love, for Love is all that exists. Where is intimacy found if not in the give and take of Love.

The only question is how to make love stay.

To share a hiding place, physical or psychological, is as intimate as love.

The greatest tragedy is a life lived and died without knowing Father God intimately and experiencing His love personally.

They showed each other that it was alright for their hearts to come out and play; that it was alright to feel close to someone; that love didn't always end in heartbreak.

If you really want to tell someone you love them, you don't just go and blurt it out. There's a dance. And your movie does that.

Oh, the ongoing love affair between hair and mouths. Hair always goes for the mouth. The mouth opens, and hair says, "I'm going in! I'm going in!" like a manic cave diver.)

That's when Steve bent down and kissed her.

The Nine lived and worked on top of one another. Between changing backstage, the house, and the romances, they had seen each other in every stage of undress. There was nothing strange about having visitors when you were in the bath.

She went from feeling completely connected to him and swimming in the warm waters of happy hormones, to a cold, frightened feeling.

The walked in silence for a moment. The world was spinning easily as she comprehended what was going on--he was doing sexy for _her._ Not the other way around. He was trying so hard, reaching for her.

Every artist is linked to a mistake with which he has a particular intimacy. All art draws its origin from an exceptional fault, each work is the implementation of this original fault, from which comes a risky plenitude and new light.

Art is not religion, 'it doesn't even lead to religion.' But in the time of distress which is ours, the time when the gods are missing, the time of absence and exile, art is justified, for it is the intimacy of this distress: the effort to make manifest, through the image, the error of the imaginary, and eventually the ungraspable, forgotten truth which hides behind the error.

The Queen watched the drops of sweat pearling her husband's brow. And nothing disgusts a woman more than the sweat of the man she has ceased to love.

He kissed her, because fuck it, he was probably about to die.

She decided to sleep with him and get it over with. It was the only way. He had become an annoying jingle, striking in the shower, or at work, or just as she was falling asleep. She had to at least kiss him deeply and completely, in a way that left nothing behind. So she could move on. So she could stop imagining it. She couldn't keep losing herself to the jingle. It was impairing her ability to function.