Quotes About Intimacy

Come then, put away your sword in its sheath, and let us two go up into my bed so that, lying together in the bed of love, we may then have faith and trust in each other.

let's go to bed together, mount my bed and mix in the magic work of love — we'll breed deep trust between us.

But now, since you have given me accurate proof describing our bed, which no other mortal man beside has ever seen, but only you and I, and there is one serving woman, Aktor's daughter, whom my father gave me when I came here, who used to guard the doors for us in our well-built chamber; 230 so you persuade my heart, though it has been very stubborn.

He sighed, and retired, but with eyes fixed on the gate, until Matilda, closing it, put an end to an interview, in which the hearts of both had drunk so deeply of a passion, which both now tasted for the first time.

The person you loved, held, and cared for, and were most intimate with, is now nothing but a fragile set of memories that will vanish into the mists of the future.

Richard had a theory about intimate human relations. He saw nonpossessive love as pure love, the only love, and possessive love as a mockery of pure love. Nonpossessive love did not enslave or constrain the love object.

I wanna make you feel wanted And I wanna call you mine Wanna hold your hand forever Never let you forget it Yeah, I wanna make you feel wanted

To make a point of declaring friendship is to cheapen it. For men's emotions are very rarely put into words successfully.

Writing is the flip side of sex - it's only good when it's over.

Then there was organ music, a sort of feverish dirge, and then I was stepping out of my shorts and into the shower with Chenault. I remember the feel of those soapy little hands washing my back, keeping my eyes tightly shut while my soul fought a hopeless battle with my groin, then giving up like a drowning man and soaking the bed with our bodies.

There are worse kinds of infidelity than the sexual. I was living with one of the most interesting women in the world, and too often my attention was elsewhere.

I brought my face up and put my head back, baring my neck to the wind like a lover, to the rain like an offering.

He remembers night, sleep, the bed, their shared comas, A certain source of fondness in the night. (She saw, no, expected, a dawn from every light. Such was her fault)

I would stay away from him and leave him to go his own road where there would be other women, countless other women, who would probably give him as much physical pleasure as he had had with me. I wouldn't care, or at least I told myself that I wouldn't care, because none of them would ever own him—own any larger piece of him than I now did.

The conventional parabola--sentiment, the touch of the hand, the kiss, the passionate kiss, the feel of the body, the climax in the bed, then more bed, then less bed, then the boredom, the tears and the final bitterness--was to him shameful and hypocritical.

People are islands,' she said. 'They don't really touch. However close they are, they're really quite separate. Even if they've been married for fifty years.

Now it's your turn again,' she said. 'Buy me another drink and then tell me what sort of a woman you think would add to you.' Bond gave his order to the steward. He lit a cigarette and turned back to her. 'Somebody who can make Sauce Béarnaise as well as love,' he said. 'Holy mackerel! Just any old dumb hag who can cook and lie on her back?

Some love is fire, some love is rust. But the finest, cleanest love is lust.

Only two weeks later we were lovers. It was somehow inevitable.

There is only one way of telling if a woman really loves you, and even that way can only be read by an expert.' 'Yes,' said Bond dubiously. 'I know what you mean. In bed.

Quantum of Solace – the amount of comfort. Yes, I suppose you could say that all love and friendship is based in the end on that.

This may sound weird, but I love to listen to whale music when a guy goes down on me. I have all these bizarre underwater fantasies. Sometimes I even imagine that I'm the female whale and that I'm being called by the male whale, with his like, what, fifty-foot cock.

Few, if any, of the world's problems can be solved with a mere twenty minutes of attention, and yet here, in the complex sociopolitical landscape of the bedroom, we have an opportunity to create bilateral satisfaction. When put that way, in the context of sexual peace and equality, is twenty minutes of focused attention, applied appropriately, really too much to ask, especially if it can save your sex life?

hugging each other at least three times a day: once before leaving for work, a second time when arriving home, and a third time before going to sleep. If you do nothing else, hug three times—but truly hug.