Intamacy Quotes

Quotes tagged as "intamacy" Showing 1-4 of 4
Bohumil Hrabal
“The closest one person can get to another is through silence.”
Bohumil Hrabal, I Served the King of England

Sarah J. Maas
“Greedy,' he murmured, his lips hovering over my neck. 'First you terrorise me with your cold hands, now you want... what is it you want, Feyre?'
...
Rhysand's teeth scraped against my neck in a lazy caress. 'What is it you want, Feyre?' He nipped at my earlobe.

I cried out a little, arching fully against him, as if I could get that hand to slip exactly where I wanted it. I knew what he wanted me to say. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it. Not yet.

So I said, 'I want a distraction.' It was breathless. 'I want- fun.'

His body again tensed behind mine.

And I wondered if he somehow didn't see it for the lie it was; if he thought... if he thought that was all I indeed wanted.

But his hands resumed their roaming. 'Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you.”
Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

Lorrie Moore
“She was bad at love. There were people in the world who were good at love and people who were bad at it. She was bad. She used to think she was good at love, that it was intimacy she was bad at. But you had to have both. Love without intimacy, she knew, was an unsung tune. It was all in your head. You said, "Listen to this!" but what you found yourself singing was a tangle, a nothing, a heap. It reminded her of a dinner party she had gone to once, where dessert was served on plates printed with French songs. After dinner everyone had had to sing their plate, but hers had still had whipped cream on it, and when it came her turn, she had garbled the notes and words, frantically pushing the whipped cream around with a fork so she could see the next measure. Oh, she was bad, bad like that, at love.”
Lorrie Moore

Pascal Mercier
“Maar als we ons opmaken iemands innerlijk te begrijpen? Is dat een reis waar ooit een einde aan komt? Is de ziel het domein van feitelijkheden? Of zijn de vermeende feitelijkheden niet meer dan de bedrieglijke schaduwen van onze verhalen?”
Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon