Best 491 quotes in «intimacy quotes» category

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    I lower my mouth to his and kiss him softly. He closes his eyes and begins to ease his head against the bed. "Keep them open," I whisper, pulling away from his lips. He opens them, regarding me with and intensity that penetrates straight to my core. "I want you to keep them open...because I need you to watch me give you the very last piece of my heart.

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    I might have woven myself to you in this bed but my body is still not your body as much as it is the earth— its water, its soil, its air, its children birthed from seed to become our fruit. —intimacy

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    „Îmi plac petrecerile mari. Sunt atât de intime. La petrecerile mici n-ai loc de intimitate.

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    I'm listening to my son right now.

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    I'm nineteen tree rings and mashed acorns stop up my veins when I can't clot. Oh god, you beautiful person, I'll let you lick the salt off of my tattoos as if they were wounds, wounds made of ink and stories.

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    I'm not here to make you comfortable, I'm here to make you passionate.

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    In avoiding all pain and seeking comfort at all cost, we may be left without intimacy or compassion; in rejecting change and risk we often cheat ourselves of the quest; in denying our suffering we may never know our strength or our greatness.

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    In intimacy, we are clasped into one another, and the invisible bonds are liberating shackles. this clasping is imperious: it demands exclusivity. to share is to betray. But we want to love and touch not only one single person. What to do? control the various intimacies? Strict bookkeeping of subjects, words, gestures? Mutual knowledge and secrets? It would be a silent trickling poison.

    • intimacy quotes
  • By Anonym

    In intimacy there exists a line That can't be crossed by passion or love's art -- In awful silence lips melt into one And out of love to pieces bursts the heart. And friendship here is impotent, and years Of happiness sublime in fire aglow, When soul is free and does not hear The dulling of sweet passion, long and slow. Those who are striving toward it are in fever, But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers. Now you have understood, why forever My heart does not beat underneath your fingers.

  • By Anonym

    I’m interested in connecting with readers and strangers through poetry. I want to create real intimacy with my poems. Whether I do that through pulling from my personal life or using my fantasy life—or say history, whether that history is personal history or our collective histories—what’s important is that an experience is created. An experience that will hopefully matter to people and feel real. I want my poems to move people and make them want to live their lives, however complicated and impossible those lives may be. I think a poem can speak to the life you currently live but also to the lives you’ve lived before, the ones to come and also those you’ve yet to imagine. What else can do that? Not sex or money or other people.

  • By Anonym

    Intimacy cannot be expressed discursively. The swelling to the bursting point, the malice that breaks out with clenched teeth and weeps; the sinking feeling that doesn't know where it comes from or what it's about; the fear that sings its head off in the dark; the white-eyed pallor, the sweet sadness, the rage and the vomiting...are so many evasions. What is intimate, in the strong sense, is what has the passion of an absence of individuality, the imperceptible sonority of a river, the empty limpidity of the sky

  • By Anonym

    In long-standing relationships, sometimes, it's not that the other person become marginal, rather you tend to consider your partner a part of yourself and, as for your arm, even if you never say how important it is to you, it would be terrible if it wasn't there.

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    Intimacy is about sharing something with your spouse that you don’t share with anybody else. It’s letting him in. It’s laughing together. And it’s also feeling that deep hunger for each other!

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    Intimacy requires accommodation and gentleness at it's core, and does with phrases like "If it bothers you I won't do it," and "Now I understand." And "Thank you for telling me that. I hadn't seen it in that light." And "I appreciate you taking the time to get through my defences. I am sorry I put up such a fight." You'd be surprised how much power there is in respect, and how much respect comes back, and how much intimacy there is when you empower someone instead of overpower them, and how much more love.

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    Intimacy transcends the physical. It is a feeling of closeness that isn’t about proximity, but of belonging. It is a beautiful emotional space in which two become one.

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    Intimacy is not purely physical. It's the act of connecting with someone so deeply, you feel like you can see into their soul.

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    Integration arises from intimacy with our emotions and our bodies, as well as with our thoughts.

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    Intimacy calls for listening and speaking both. Listening to a person’s changing emotions and speaking about your own emotions. Intimacy flourishes by knowing and being known.

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    ...intimacy isn't something men talk about. They may talk about politics, literature, stocks, or sports, depending on the man, but about their love lives they keep silent, even to their dying breath.

    • intimacy quotes
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    Intimacy with GOD is most exhilarating, most amazing, most exciting and most rewarding of all.

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    I sit on the bed and kick off my shoes, and he kneels before me and takes the riding boots, holding one open for my bare foot. I hesitate; it is such an intimate gesture between a young woman and a man. His smiling upward glance tells me that he understands my hesitation but is ignoring it. I point my toe and he holds the boot, I slide my foot in and he pulls the boot over my calf. He takes the soft leather ties and fastens the boot, at my ankle, then at my calf, and then just below my knee. He looks up at me, his hand gently on my toe. I can feel the warmth of his hand through the soft leather. I imagine my toes curling in pleasure at his touch. ‘Anne, will you marry me?’ he asks simply, as he kneels before me.

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    In your emotions: exercise Joy over sadness.

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    . . .in your light, had I learned to love, here in your beauty, could I speak knowing of this space close within as the breath held inside a garden rose, there— there is no time.

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    I offer you my mouth— Let me marry my lips to the tops of your thighs, I kneel between your legs. I offer you my hands— Your name written all over my palms, the fingers I press against you. I offer you my hips— My apologetic body.

  • By Anonym

    I stood in front of him, frustratedly imagining his naked muscular chest, and wanting his hot cock to spear me. My nipples were aroused, feeling as hard and long as coat hooks. They prodded fiercely through the thin blue material at him, like little calling signs of how horny and ready for sex I was. The best advertisement of all: erect nipples!

  • By Anonym

    I stood in bars, clothed but naked, looking from their eyes to my feet and back again. Still there was the longing to contend with: the heavy, bloody, chemical urge to consume another body and spit out its bones in a new child. How do you make a stranger so intimate when they could so easily destroy you?

  • By Anonym

    Isn't it true that a pleasant house makes winter more poetic, and doesn't winter add to the poetry of a house?

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    It happened. For the first second or two, his lips are so gentle, relaxed, and slow that the kiss seems to be frozen in time and space.

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    I traced a finger along my bottom lip as I wondered what his erection would look like, and how I should seduce him. I thought what kind of approach would work best: whether to go in slow and seductively, or whether I should make him notice me in some hard and fast way.

  • By Anonym

    I stare down into her eyes, smoky and glistening in the light stealing through the window. Eyes you can fall into and keep falling. She isn't the mother of my son, she isn't my wife, we haven't made a life together, but I love her all the same, and not jsut the version of Daniela that exists in my head, in my history. I love the physical woman underneath me in this bed here and now, wherever this is, because it's the same arrangement of matter--same eyes, same voice, same smell, same taste... It isn't married-people lovemaking that follows. We have fumbling, groping, backseat-of-the-car, unprotected-because-who-gives-a-fuck, protons-smashing-together sex.

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    It's like the old question, "Do you lock your house to keep people out, or to protect what's inside?" Should a person act modestly and dress modestly in order to prevent intrusion from the outside, undesirable things from happening, or to preserve and maintain what is inside: the delicate and sensitive ability to have and maintain an intimate relationship.

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    I think loneliness is one of the greatest and realest things any of us can experience, because there is no one else there to corrupt it or interfere with our perception... which makes it extremely intimate and yet universal simultaneously.

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    It's love when someone can touch you without using their hands.

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    It's reassurance, yes it's sure to be, lick in between your legs, a mouth full of your femininity. I guess you know how my words are so persuasive, persuade you in a position foreign to your native. Hawaiian punch rose petals spread all over this marble floor, glasses of sparkling wine as you walk through the door. Deep with purpose, impress this on your subconscious, fatal, it's like having sex with your mental.

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    Its crazy when people of high moral standards, feel its okay for an intimate friend to insult them in a jovial way, forgeting that even casual friends can do just the same in a jovial way.

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    It turns out horrendous when you choose the wrong options.

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    It would take me the better part of growing up to understand that intimacy, more than sex or even sexual orientation, was the universal battleground, and no easier for straight than gay.

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    It was the impatience of the way he tore my panties from my body, that really turned me on: I was all he could think of, as his lust got the better of him. I glanced back, and saw the underwear torn and discarded, a little strip of thin black material on the floor, and thought, Yes, this is the kind of impatient sex I’m looking for. The way they looked so small, and cruelly forgotten, was a beautiful symbol of how much we both needed to satisfy our lusts.

  • By Anonym

    It's morning now, and I miss the soft rasp of her voice already. Ugh. I'm in trouble, aren't I?

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    I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

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    I want to hold you close, skin on skin, and let our heartbeats have a conversation.

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    I want you to fuck me, Chris,’ I said, lustfully whispering the words into his ear as he planted kisses on my neck. His lips were wild and yearning, eagerly devouring me.

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    I wanted, for so long, for someone to understand me better than I understood myself, to take control of me, to save me, to make it all better. I thought that the hardest part of a loving, mutually healing relationship would be showing my vulnerable, raw spots to a person, even though I'd been hurt so many times before. This has not been the hardest part. The actual hardest part has been realizing that no one, no matter how compassionate and kind they are, will say the perfect things always. Myself included. The hardest part has been learning to communicate what I need, to hear what others need, to tell others how to tell me what they need. Intimacy takes communication. A lot of it. We all have triggers. I don't know your triggers, and you don't know mine. No matter how much I love or trust you, you cannot possibly know exactly the words I need to hear, the words I don't want to hear, and the way I like to be touched. And how strange that we expect these things of each other. How strange (and self-sabotaging) that we refuse to get into relationships and friendships with people unless they treat us in just that perfect way. We've been raised to want fairy tales. We've been raised to wait for flawless saviors to rescue us. But the savior isn't flawless and the savior is not coming. The savior is you. The savior is still learning. The savior is never done learning. The savior is a human being. Forget perfect. Forget flawless. And start speaking your truth. Start speaking what you want and how you want it. And start asking and listening, really listening, to what the people around you say. Maybe, then, we will stop abandoning and hurting each other. Maybe, then, there's hope for us.

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    I was starting to fall for him, He didn't say it but the way He looked at me, Told me he felt the same.

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    Loneliness makes us more capable of true intimacy if ever better opportunities do come along. We might be isolated for now, but we'll be capable of far closer, more interesting bonds with anyone we do eventually locate.

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    Love means being able to confide in someone. The greater the confidence, the greater the love.

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    Love should be easy. Life is hard. Relationships are complicated. But the love, that’s the one thing we should be able to count on.

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    Maggie, when will you believe me when I say you're beautiful?" "I'm not twenty-five," she replied. "I need to lose ten pounds--" "Hush." Angel placed a hand over her mouth. "Don't talk about the woman I'm crazy about like that. It pisses me off, because she's perfect as is.

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    Make sensuality your power base.

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    Making love is not magical, if there is no love.