Quotes About Intimacy

They fell asleep holding each other and were wakened by a smell, comforting and maternal, of boiled milk and salt water.

He was going to the synagogue that afternoon because Uncle Ray had assured him that my grandmother would be there, and my grandfather was hoping to get into my grandmother's panties. The woman had passed through the fire without being consumed, but she had, my grandfather understood, been damaged. So he had decided that he was going to save her. Getting into her panties was a necessary first step.

He defined good company not by the conversation but by the lack of it. When there was no need to talk to feel comfortable, that was the right company.

And when they were finally naked they moved

He could feel her tiny heart beating. It seemed quick and desperate, like a whispered prayer.

Neither spoke, neither made a sound except for the deep exhalation of breath. First he felt her hips shudder, and soon after he desperately reached up and pulled her down into an embrace as his own body created that one moment that takes all other moments away—all fear, all sadness—and leaves just joy. Just hope. Sometimes love.

Every day you fight death with life and what is more vital in life than the physical act of love?

La mayoría de los hombres con los que he estado… Es como si quisieran algo de mí que no les daba. No sé lo que era, pero simplemente no lo tenía para darlo. Entonces o me iba demasiado pronto o me quedaba demasiado.

Everything is sex. Trust me. It always comes down to sex.

Here is what unsayable about us: Jonathan and I are members of a team so old nobody else could join even if we wanted them to. What binds us is stronger than sex. It is stronger than love. We're related. Each of us is the other born into a different flesh.

Like the morning you walked out of that old house, when you were eighteen and I was, well, I had just turned nineteen, hadn't I? I was a nineteen-year-old and I was in love with Louis and I was in love with you, and I thought I had never seen anything so beautiful as the sight of you walking out a glass door in the early morning, still sleepy, in your underwear. Isn't it strange?

She lays the book face down on her chest. Already her bedroom (no, their bedroom) feels more densely inhabited, more actual, because a character named Mrs. Dalloway is on her way to buy flowers.

The point of sex is... Sex doesn't have a point.

It's impossible to imagine, isn't it? Most men probably go through the same motions, more or less, but what's in their minds, what agitates their blood? What could be more mortifyingly personal, what veers closer to the depths, than whatever it is that makes us come? If we knew, if we could see what's in the cartoon balloons over other guy's heads as they jerk off, would we be moved, or repelled?

Love is deep, a mystery - who wants to understand its every particular?

She'll be willing to meet someone who can hold her interest for more than a few months, and that guy will teach her about domestic deepenings, the modest reliable thrill of the familiar, which as almost everyone but Liz knows has been the way of human happiness since humanity was born.

My little girl, oh, the daughter I never had. Now tell me, angel, are you fucking anybody new?

Sometimes the fabric that separates us tears just enough for love to shine through. Sometimes the tear is surprisingly small.

We made love that night, for the first time in a month, and though all the moves came off, the central point was missing. I'd suspected it would be that way. Now sex was a succession of details, with a sweet implosion at the end. It was another feature of the regular day.

Not all people were meant to be lovers.

I watched you wake up and try to wake me up too. I could still feel you touch my face and my cheek. I liked the way you brushed my hair back with your hand. I liked the way held onto my hands with your hands. They must have felt a little cold and a little wet but they started to feel warm again when you held onto them. I want you to know that I stayed there with you and held onto you too.

We unplugged all the clocks and anything that had a clock on it. We used our extra time awake to slow the rest of our time down. We cooked and ate and sat and talked and waited and moved and walked and we did it all slowed down. there wasn't anything else that we wanted to do but be awake and alive with each other.

Anyway the thing I remember most about that night was the way that we unbuttoned and unzipped each other's clothes, the way that we tore each other's clothes off, and how that was even more exciting than unwrapping presents.

There was a joke that captured the antiseptic spirit of behaviorism that Skinner himself liked to tell: A couple makes love. Afterward, one of them turns to the other and says, "It was good for you. How was it for me?