I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

Drying up in conversation, You will be the one who cannot talk, All your insides fall to pieces, You just sit there wishing you could still make love.

The pain that we feel when we are making love with someone is that we know it will end. It's that paradoxical response of joy and suffering.

Every time we make love to a human being, fully, we are making love to everything that lives and breathes. In that sense it becomes communion. It is a sacrament.

Truth makes love possible; love makes truth bearable.

We will make love an art and we will love like artists.

It's all good when we making love, all I ask is don't take our love for granted, it's granted.

You can't make love without art.

Pleasure has its time; so too, has wisdom. Make love in thy youth, and in old age attend to thy salvation.

All these years, I've been opening the window and making love to the world.