Quotes & Sayings About Pillow Talk

Kids are all computer-savvy. Sit down and write to your parents on the computer. And just say, I have some questions and I'm scared. There's some stuff I don't know and I really need to talk to you about sex. Tear it off and put it on their pillow. They'll read it. — Sue Johanson

You didn't tell Summer about it, did you?"
"What?" Gage scoffs. "Yeah, telling your girlfriend the Angel of Death might visit her if some switch is flipped is normal pillow talk. — Laura Kreitzer

His caressing palm on her butt almost had her lulled into la-la land when he murmured, "You're mom's got a nice ass. "Willow's eyes popped open. "Excuse me?" "What?" he defended. "You always like pillow talk after sex. — Linda Kage

Just be careful of the what-ifs, she warns. They'll tumble in your head like laundry that won't dry. — Rodney Ross

You're so ... You're too ... You're ... " He faltered, then took a deep breath. "I have no words for you, Sita. You leave me speechless."
I smiled and pinched his buttock so he twitched. "Speechless? Gods, I've broken you. I never would have deemed it possible to render you speechless. — Erica Dakin

It's always the accent that drives you American women crazy. I'd no idea you fancied it, too ... " he trailed off.
"Oooh, fancied it. Say more like that," I begged, smiling into the pillow.
"Like what, Grace?"
"Talk British to me," I whispered, only half joking.
"Dustbins."
"More," I encouraged.
"Crumpets."
"More!" I demanded.
"Knickers."
If I could hear Jack Hamilton say a second word for the rest of my life, it would be knickers.
"Say put another shrimp on the barbie!" I cried.
"Grace, that's Australian," he chided.
"Say it!"
"Fine. Put another shrimp on the barbie. Bloody hell," he muttered.
"Aaaahhhhhhh!" I screamed into the phone. — Alice Clayton

A business tip, you never know who's having "pillow talk" with one another. Watch what u say, who u say it to, & WHO u talk about. — Keshia Chante

But...a vibrator can't hold you in its arms or give you the full-body experience."

Em clamped down on the wicked surge of heat between her legs, thinking about a full-body experience with Lincoln Quinn. "It's not going to make me lie in the wet spot, either."

"It can't snuggle with you after," he countered with another laugh.

Em snorted. "And that's your specialty, is it? Hanging around for pillow talk?"

"I'll have you know I give very good pillow talk."

Sure. And Elvis was alive and living at Henley Stadium. "Right," she muttered. "Of course you do."

"I really do." He nodded. "Most women seem to be more interested in me giving them good head, but hey, I'm a full service kinda guy. — Amy Andrews

Ode to the Chamber
... linger here amidst the chamber
in which we embrace our love
talk to me of sonnets
and call me turtledove ... — Muse

Pillow talk. It's how you know, it's how you tell, that something different, something special is happening: that this might even be the most important night of your life. Some day -some night- I hope you both may know it, with whoever it may be: the wish, stealing up on you, not to just merge bodies, but all you have, all your years, all your memories up to that point. And why should you wish to do that, if you haven't already guessed that your future too, will be shared? — Graham Swift

Sharing pillow talk with the wrong people can make a hard bed to lie on, and will surely lead to nightmares in your relationship. — Carlos Wallace

I reach over and stroke her hair. When I do, a few of the strands fall off in my fingers. I pull my hand back and slowly wrap them around my finger as I walk to my room and pick my purple hair clip up off the floor. I open the clip and place the strands of hair inside and snap it shut. I place the clip under my bedroom pillow and I go back to my mother's room. I slide into the bed beside her and wrap my arms around her. She finds my hand and we interlock fingers as we talk without saying a single word. — Colleen Hoover

I slept all day, face down in the pillow, a comfortable dead-man's float only remotely disturbed by a chill undertow of reality - talk, footsteps, slamming doors - which threaded fitfully through the dark, blood-warm waters of dream. — Donna Tartt

o here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and wondering who I'm in, what I'm in for. My eyes close nostalgically when I remember how I once drifted in my translucent body bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my thoughts through my private ocean in slow-motion somersaults, colliding gently against the transparent bounds of my confinement, the confiding membrane that vibrated with, even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of space to myself, knees crammed against my belly, my thoughts as well as my head are fully engaged. I've no choice, my ear is pressed all day and night against the bloody walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I'm troubled. I'm hearing pillow talk of deadly intent and I'm terrified by what awaits me, by what might draw me in. — Ian McEwan

You know, most people's pillow talk isn't about battle and killing, I said. — Laurell K. Hamilton

She snores, she talks too god damn much, and she tries to cuddle." John visibly shivers at that, so I nod and continue to state my grievances. "She's always in my room, even when I've told her to stay the fuck out on multiple occasions. If she's not in my room, she's dogging my every step, or in my freaking face and asking so many fucking questions. 'Do we have enough food, Jared? What about ammo? Are you sure it's safe? What will happen if the monsters got in?' I just want to go to fucking sleep, and she wants pillow talk after some subpar post coition. — Katelin LaMontagne

And how does my aide come by this information before I do?"

"Well, you know . . . pillow talk. See, sex - in this case - is an advantage to you. McNab said they'd get through faster, but at data clubs like that, the units are totally clogged. But he's on it and it's his top priority."

She cleared her throat when Eve made no comment. "Should I still contact Captain Feeney?"

"Oh, Feeney and I appear to be superfluous at this point. You and McPecker can fill us in whenever you feel it's appropriate."

"McPecker." Peabody snorted. "That's a good one. I'm going to use it on him."

"Happy to help." She shot Peabody a deceptively friendly look. "Perhaps I'm wasting my time going to the lab. Have you and Dickie also had a liaison?"

" Eeeuw."

"My faith in you is, at least, partially restored. — J.D. Robb

When I walked out again I could hear Toby at the foot of the stairs, calling up to me, undoubtedly prevented from ascending by Miss Kilnside.

"What do you want?" I shouted down the stairs.

"Will you come and talk to me, please?" he called back.

"Why should I?" I asked.

"Because I fucking love you!" he shouted, and I heard Miss Kilnside sharply rebuff him for his language, but after that I could hear nothing because I'd slammed the door of my room behind me.

The rag doll was lying on my pillow, staring up at me through her one button eye, glaring at me. I picked it up and threw it against the wall with all the force I could muster; it fell behind the radiator.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed at it, or me; I couldn't tell. — A.J. Mullarky

She opened her eyes slowly and saw that a pale lavender moth had come to a rest on the back of her hand. She watched it from her pillow, wondering if it was real. It reminded her of her husband Matt's favorite T-shirt, which she'd hidden in a bag of sewing, unable to throw it away. It had a large faded moth on the front, the logo of a cover band out of Athens called the Mothballs.
That T-shirt, that moth, always brought back a strange memory of when she was a child. She used to draw tattoos of butterflies on her arms with Magic Markers. She would give them names, talk to them, carefully fill in their colors when they started to fade. When the time came that they wanted to be set free, she would blow on them and they would come to life, peeling away from her skin and flying away. — Sarah Addison Allen

Bett didn't have any siblings because she said her father had preserved what was dead for too long to be able to create life. When Bet was younger and had begged for one, her father gave her a marmot he' stuffed for a man from Wyoming.
"This is your brother Christopher," he'd said, placing the marmot on Bett's pillow one night. "He doesn't talk much, so you'll have to pick up the slack there. — Rebecca Rasmussen

THERE ARE FEW THINGS as beautiful as a glass bottle filled with deep amber whiskey. Liquor shines when the light hits it, reminiscent of precious things like jewels and gold. But whiskey is better than some lifeless bracelet or coronet. Whiskey is a living thing capable of any emotion that you are. It's love and deep laughter and brotherhood of the type that bonds nations together. Whiskey is your friend when nobody else comes around. And whiskey is solace that holds you tighter than most lovers can. I thought all that while looking at my sealed bottle. And I knew for a fact that it was all true. True the way a lover's pillow talk is true. True the way a mother's dreams for her napping infant are true. But the whiskey mind couldn't think its way out of the problems I had. So I took Mr. Seagram's, put him in his box, and placed him up on the shelf where he belonged. — Walter Mosley

The women in my life have all been librarians, English teachers, or booksellers. If they couldn't speak pidgin Tolstoy, articulate Henry James, or give me directions to Usher and Ox, it was no go. I have always longed for education, and pillow talk's the best. — Ray Bradbury

Yeah. That's why I seduced you, so you'd reach for the stars."
Quent snuggled. "I caught one. He's prickly, but surprisingly soft inside."
"Aw, shut up so we can do to sleep."
-Jade and Quent pillow talk — Amy Lane

All I want is the here and now, this piece of time. And please save the pillow talk for someone who wants it. Contrary to what you seem to think, I'm no delicate rose — Lisa Renee Jones

You're doing it again and it really annoys me. In fact, I will have to kill you now because I have a lot of untamed energy because of the Sex God. I'm going to have to give you a bit of a duffing up." And I shoved her.
She said, "Don't be silly and childish."
I said, "I'm not."
She got up and started making her hair have more bouncability with the air brush thing again. I waited until she had got it just right (in her opinion); then I hit her over the head with a pillow. She started to say, "Look, this is not funn-" but before she could finish I hit her over the head again with the pillow. And every time she tried to talk I did it again. She got all red-faced, which in Jas's case is very red indeed. It made me feel much better. Violence may be the answer to the world's problems. I may write to the Dalai Lama and suggest he tries my new approach. — Louise Rennison

I hope it's the worst fuck you've ever had, you ruthless, manipulating bastard."
"Pillow talk already?" he replied with a slight grin. — Jeaniene Frost

It was indeed a time between, one second their thoughts all brambled airedale, the next all silken slumbering cat. It was a time to go to bed, yet still they lingered reluctant as boys to give over and wander in wide circles to pillow and night thoughts. It was a time to say much but not all. It was a time after first discoveries but not last ones. It was wanting to know everything and wanting to know nothing. It was the new sweetness of men starting to talk as they must talk. It was the possible bitterness of revelation. — Ray Bradbury

Sneaky, manipulating, merciless bloodsucker ... " A chuckle drifted up to me. "Pillow talk already? You'll have me hard before we're even back in our room ... — Jeaniene Frost