Quotes About Relationship

And he was not angry. But, before the pain set in, he had the time to be rueful. He had laid everything out, the best of himself, and it had not been enough. He had considered himself a bohemian, but she had proved too bohemian for him. And he had failed to understand her explanation of herself.

Sad sex is when you feel you're losing all touch with her, and she with you, but this is the way of telling one another that the connection is still there, somehow; that neither of you is giving up on the other, even if part of you fears that you should. Then you discover that insisting on the connection is the same as prolonging the pain.

The orthodoxy runs, that if a marriage is founded on less than perfect truth it will always come to light. I don't believe that. Marriage moves you further away from the examination of truth, not nearer to it.

So (and this would have happened earlier, but I am only remembering it now): I am visiting her one afternoon.

Se había imaginado que, en el mundo moderno, el tiempo y el lugar ya no eran importantes en las historias de amor. Al mirar atrás vio que habían desempeñado en la suya una función más grande de lo que había pensado. Había sucumbido a la antigua, continuada, indeleble ilusión: que de algún modo los amantes están fuera del tiempo.

Vienas anglas yra pasak?s, kad santuoka yra ilgai trunkantis valgymas, kai pudingas paduodamas iš pradži?.

Early on, she had told him, tenderly, that she had been attracted to him because he was pure and open. But if this didn't make her love him as much as he loved her, then he wished it were otherwise. Not that he felt pure and open. They sounded like words designed to keep him in a box

your lovemaking has become less a search for consolation than a hopeless attempt to deny your mutual unhappiness.

El amor, por su propia naturaleza, era perturbador, cataclísmico; y, si no, no era amor.

She knew me better than anyone else in the world. And still wanted to have lunch with me. And let me go on and on about myself.

Dear Adrian – or rather, Dear Adrian and Veronica (hello, Bitch, and welcome to this letter)

But you cannot leave Susan. How could you bear to withdraw your love from her? If you didn't love her, who would? And maybe it is worse than this. It is not just that you love her, but that you are addicted to her. How ironic would that be?

there was a sense in which he had no choice. He couldn't live with Susan; he couldn't establish a separate life away from her; therefore he went back to live with her. Courage or cowardice? Or mere inevitability?

I keep alive our lost private language.

So now he better understood how couples clung to their own story—each, often, to a separate part of it—long after it had gone cold on them, even to the point where they were not sure they could bear one another. Bad love still contained the remnant, the memory, of good love—somewhere, deep down, where neither of them any longer wanted to dig.

Not a touch, not a kiss, not a word, let alone a scheme or a plan. But there was already, just in the way we sat in the car, before she said a few laughing words and then walked off up her driveway, a complicity between us. Not, I insist, as yet a complicity to do anything. Just a complicity which made me a little more me, and her a little more her.

You marry to continue the conversation.

I considered ducking the appointment, but eventually decided to let the heart speak, and rolled up. I had, after all, spent three days wondering what it would be like to be married to her. In fact, I'd thought about Annick so much that I couldn't remember what she looked like. It was like putting layer after layer of papier mâché over an object and gradually seeing the original shape disappear. How terrible if I failed to recognise the woman I'd already been married to for three days.

Arthur, my dear," she interrupts. "There is something I wish to talk about." He looks surprised, and slightly alarmed. If he has always valued her directness, there is a residual suspicion within him that whenever a woman says something must be talked about, it is rarely something to a man's comfort or advantage.

Nowadays, at the other end of life, I have a rule of thumb about whether or not two people are having an affair: if you think they might be, then they definitely are.

don't believe in destiny, as I may have said. But I do believe now that when two lovers meet, there is already so much prehistory that only certain outcomes are possible.

The couple that never talk to each other never discover how little they have in common.

You must decide whether you wish to get on with your children or live at war with them.

When I met you, I thought we were meant for each other, even though, in some ways, seemed very different and we kept fighting. But now ... What? Now I think we're meant for each other, but we are doing to each other, to become the people we become. You know what I mean.