Best 491 quotes in «intimacy quotes» category

The male is the giving part of a sexual union and the female is the receptive part. Since the wombman is the receiver she must be aware of her partner’s spiritual nature before choosing to be intimate with him.

The more deeply we dive, the less we mind upsetting waves, finding within intimate relationship an increasingly compelling invitation to seek and find freedom through our shared heart, our shared body, our shared limitations, our shared boundlessness, our shared mortality, our shared yes, our shared being, our shared all... P.14

The more spiritually connected we become, the more we may intuitively sense that finding our soul mate or twin flame is not only important, but it is actually part of our life purpose. We may understand that on a deep level, our soul seeks expansion, and the best way to do that is within the loving container of a relationship.

The only place Aletta and I could be together unseen was just under the rafters in the church tower, a circumstance that propelled us into an earlier intimacy than what we would have known had we been permitted to walk together Sunday afternoons under the wide sky.

There are people who feel they should be with you, but something is preventing them from coming close. Please can you just lower the frequency of your stern looking face and smile...and they will make you their habit.

The physical stage of bonding is at its most powerful when all other forms of bonding have been achieved. If this has been done, the final petals of the flower have reached full maturity and unfold, leaving no restriction for pleasure, physical or otherwise. Having learned your partner and when to push, pull away or work together in fluid unison; having learned what enthuses and delights their senses, you are prepared to carry all of this knowledge into the sweet cadence of your unity.

There is intimacy during sex only when there was intimacy before it.

The reason people fear to confide in anyone is that even an internal friend can make personal details external, and it will remain eternal.

There is a ladder to Success! Choose to climb it.

There is no greater intimacy than sitting with someone traversing that tenuous boundary between worlds, sitting vigil with a spirit trembling on the border, reaching toward the new and releasing the old.

There is no greater place for damage (than marriage) because there is no greater place for glory.

There is no medicine that can ignite the bond of love. Friendship is compulsory, love comes around when friendship ripes, and sex is a matter of choice.

There’d never been anyone who could knife him so with a momentary word, and then speak the wound away in the very next moment. If all those little boyhood heartbreaks had been supposed to make him ready for this, Demane wasn’t.

There is a magic to intimacy, a world built of sighs and skin that is thicker than brick, stronger than iron. There is only you, and him, so impossibly close that nothing can come between. Not the enemy, not your allies. In this safe haven, in this hallowed place and time, I could even ask the questions whose answers I feared.

There is a world of difference between the experience of 'care' – the wiping of a bottom, the bathing of a body: basic biological obligations – and the intimacy that makes us want to live.

These are the things you don’t say, even to someone you love.

There is something intimate about playing a duet. It's touching the soul of another person without ever touching the flesh.

There was a real sense of comfort but at the same time it felt oddly tense. The feeling that every little things we said, these conversations, at any moment, they could stop being possible, and so they were precious, it was that feeling, and the sense of the miracle of this shared moment, here and now. Why were we so far apart, even when we are together? It was anice loneliness, like th sensation of washing your face with cold water.

There's an intimacy in listening to somebody's lies, I've always thought--you learn more about someone from the things they wish were true than from the things that actually are.

The second hugely seductive move is to signal that we view the other person with a mixture of tenderness and realism. It’s often imagined that it’ll be seductive to convey an air of adoration, to hint that the other strikes us as exceptionally attractive or accomplished. But surprisingly, it is deeply worrying to be obviously adored, because everyone, from the inside, knows very well that they don’t deserve intense acclaim, are often disappointing and sometimes quite simply pitiful. So seduction involves suggesting both that one likes the other person a lot – and yet can see their frailty quite clearly, that one cope with it and forgive it with gentle indulgence. One might, towards the end of the evening drop in a small warm tease that alludes to our understanding of some less than perfect side of them: ‘I suppose you stayed under the duvet feeling a bit sorry for yourself after that?’ we might ask, with a benign smile. Such a gesture implies that we like another person not under a mistaken notion that they are flawless but with a full and unfrightened appreciation of their frailties. That ends up being powerfully seductive because it is, first and foremost, reassuring. It suggests the ideal way that we would like someone to view us within the testing conditions of a real relationship. We crave not admiration, but to be properly known and yet still liked and forgiven.

The sex, it automatically becomes amazing when you own the person, you know he is loyal and no matter what he is not going to leave you.

This sort of quiet gazing, which was like a feeding of the heart, was something I had not experienced with any other woman.

The strange thing about loneliness is that we feel it most intently when we are with people. Loneliness is the knowing in our heart that we were created to really, truly know each other in the deepest sense but we feel stuck with superficiality.

the toilet is an intimacy only shared with parents when you are young and once again when they are older and with lovers when say on a Sunday morning stretching into the bathroom you wake to the sound of stream into bowl and go to hug the naked body stood with its back to you and kiss the neck and taste the whole of the night on there and smell the morning’s pale yellow loss and take the whole of him in your hand and feel the water moving through him and knowing that this is love the prone flesh what we expel from the body and what we let inside

. . . the walls of her vagina tightening around me as she laughed.

This is my skin. This is not your skin, yet you are still under it.

This morning could have been perfect. The cruel truth is they have never been. Give us loneliness or give us death.

The truth is that the fever of desire in youth is fleeting disease that intimacy promptly cure.

This was our rhythm, our worship: give and take, gift and receive, honor and entrust. Making love to this man wasn’t just an expression of my feelings for him or a carnal, physical need—it was an offering.

Through me, I see you. Through you, I see me.

To feel aroused is to feel alive. Having great sex is like taking in huge lungfuls of fresh air, essential to your body, essential to your health, and essential to your life.

To have someone understand your mind is a different kind of intimacy altogether.

To hold the courage to let another witness our tears, while refuting fears invitation to shield face, is to grant the most privileged of all loving intimacies to them.

Tonight I will sleep in my bed Knowing she has landed Somewhere far from here But in my mind We are still sitting in that small cocktail booth My hand holding hers Our hearts connected And me Whispering In her ear: Wherever You Go, Go With all Your heart

Trust is the bedrock of intimacy; it is the ability to rely on someone because you believe that he or she has your best interest at heart.

To vigorous men intimacy is a matter of shame--and something precious.

Until the notion of Helmet-Assisted Life catches on with more people, you may be seen as a threat if you wear a helmet during moments of intimacy. Yet it might also be true that relaxed intimacy cannot occur unless the head is fully protected.

Tu ești pentru mine relația necesară. Toți ceilalți sunt întâmplători.

Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee, Before I knew thy face or name

Usually adult males who are unable to make emotional connections with the women they chose to be intimate with are frozen in time, unable to allow themselves to love for fear that the loved one will abandon them.

Usiwe na wasiwasi, Peter. Hizo ni hisia zangu tu. Huwezi kuwa mpelelezi. Lakini, kusema ule ukweli, ningependa sana kuonana na John Murphy. Kuna kazi binafsi ningependa kumpa. Wewe unatoka Afrika, hujawahi kumwona?” Debbie alizidi kumshtua Murphy. “Nani?” Murphy aliuliza huku akitabasamu. “John Murphy wa Afrika.” “Sijawahi kumwona. Mbona unamuulizia hivyo?” Debbie alitulia. Kisha akarusha nywele ili aone vizuri. “Nampenda sana!” “Kwa nini?” “Simpendi kwa mahaba, lakini.” “Ndiyo. Kwa nini?” “OK. Nampenda kwa kipaji chake. Alichopewa na Mungu, cha ujasusi. Kusaidia watu.” “Ahaa!” Murphy alidakia, sasa akifikiri sana. “Murphy ana mashabiki wengi hapa Meksiko bila yeye mwenyewe kujua, kwa sababu ya kupambana na wahalifu wa madawa ya kulevya – hasa wa huku Latino. Tatizo lake haonekani. Wengi hudhani ni hadithi tu, kwamba hakuna mtu kama huyo hapa duniani.” “Hapana! Murphy yupo! Ni mfanyabiashara maarufu huko Tanzania. Lakini ndiyo hivyo kama unavyosema ... Haonekani!

Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half-way to truth, were tangled in a golden mesh? Or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all? Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? Sitting on the floor with her arms round Mrs. Ramsay’s knees, close as she could get, smiling to think that Mrs. Ramsay would never know the reason of that pressure, she imagined how in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out, would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public. What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs. Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs. Ramsay’s knee.

We come here (literally) reaching for intimacy and love. But it seems soon after our arrival, we're made to believe that they're luxuries not necessities.

We always expect to experience things on an intimate level. We want to feel intimately, we want to love intimately, we want to breathe intimately. We invest ourselves in moments that reminds us of intimate connections and then we suffer because we are not experiencing it for ourselves. We yearn, we dream, we desire not realizing that love can be friendship too.

We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can't stop pissing on fire hydrants...I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. she walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. She knows the truth: We're as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we're not likely to do either. People will say it's sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad. It's triumphant. It's heroic. Isn't that the real heroism? The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention.

We cannot all write like Lincoln or Shakespeare, but even the least gifted of us has the incredible instrument, our voice, to communicate the range of human emotions. Why would we deprive ourselves of that?

We end up being unknown to those who have known us for too long.

We became six people at a table in Hampton Court. We rose and walked together down the avenue. In the thin, the unreal twilight, fitfully like the echo of voices laughing down some alley, geniality returned to me and flesh. Against the gateway, against some cedar tree I saw blaze bright, Neville, Jinny, Rhoda, Louis, Susan and myself, our life, our identity. Still King William seemed an unreal monarch and his crown mere tinsel. But we – against the brick, against the branches, we six, out of how many million millions, for one moment out of what measureless abundance of past time and time to come, burnt there triumphant. The moment was all; the moment was enough.

We go from curiosity to a search for communion.

We kissed again . . . . My clit began to twerk.