Jake Gyllenhaal Quotes

When making a film, if I feel nothing in my body, I can't work. I have to touch. I have to feel. I never stop touching.

Tension pulled my eyes open when her fingers traced a trail down my neck. Sensation blossomed, and I threw my head back and sucked in the air. Her arm slipped around my waist, catching me before I fell.

Everything in his life had come down to the sensation of her fingers against his. The person he was, the history he carried within himself, every joy and grief he had ever experienced, slipped way like an irrelevant garment. He was nothing but skin, speaking to another skin, and between the skins there was no need to find any words.

Sunlight feels warm and rough against your skin like a kiss on the cheek from your dad.

I am pleased enough with the surfaces - in fact they alone seem to me to be of much importance. Such things for example as the grasp of a child's hand in your own, the flavor of an apple, the embrace of a friend or lover, the silk of a girl's thigh, the sunlight on the rock and leaves, the feel of music, the bark of a tree, the abrasion of granite and sand, the plunge of clear water into a pool, the face of the wind - what else is there? What else do we need?

Music is real; it's something you can touch and feel. It moves you - the bass literally shakes you and rocks you from the inside. Music makes your soul feel amazing while you're performing it. It's not air, it's not wind, it's not anything like that. It's solid. It's thick. It's like summertime in New York.

Playing acoustic guitar is like having sex with your clothes on. I mean you know how to do it, but it’s more difficult.

I like manual things, doing things with my hands, the feeling of touching.

Touch is the mother of the senses. Not only are women more sensitive when they touch, but they're also more sensitive to being touched.

I don't want people to sit there and objectively watch the film. I want them to experience it as something that's under their skin, so you try to make the films really tactile.

Architecture is about experience: not only visual but also what you can touch, what you can feel.

Touch, touch, touch, touch me love, I'm shaking inside.

I sometimes wonder if the hand is not more sensitive to the beauties of sculpture than the eye. I should think the wonderful rhythmical flow of lines and curves could be more subtly felt than seen. Be this as it may, I know that I can feel the heart-throbs of the ancient Greeks in their marble gods and goddesses.

It wasn't a thing I had consciously missed, but having it now reminded me of the joy of it; that drowsy intimacy in which a man's body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs.

Touch is a freaky thing when you're not used to it. It makes you feel all kinds of things.

The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.

I should feel the air move against me, and feel the things I touched, instead of having only to look at them. I'm sure life is all wrong because it has become much too visual - we can neither hear nor feel nor understand, we can only see. I'm sure that is entirely wrong.

Feel the power of your legs, hear the orchestra playing, see the audience - anything to make the image more real. The image has to be specific. You can't just say to yourself, 'I'll do my best.' You have to have a mental blueprint of that role in your mind.

He froze, and for one moment, we stood locked in time. I could feel the silk of his shirt against my skin and the warmth of his body. The lingering scent of the overpriced cologne he wore floated around me. No smoke for a change. I’d always told him the cologne couldn’t be worth what he spent, but suddenly, I reconsidered. It was amazing.

While sight may deceive you, touch rarely does.

This is my heart. You are touching it with your left hand. You are touching it with your left hand, not because you are left-handed, although you might be, but because I am holding it against my heart. What you are feeling is the beating of my heart. It is what keeps me alive.

You have a visceral, physical response to being in [the real] places, and the sights and sounds and the smells just bring something else out in you. You're not having to fake that or imagine that. It's there. It becomes as much an act of something you bounce off as the other people you're working with.

One of the key pleasures of receiving a letter is the act of holding and entering the envelope - a sort of cross between Christmas and sex.

The warm dampness of her breath made me shiver at the mix of the familiar and the unknown, with a soft exhalation she shifted her head and her lips found my collarbone, teasingly shy of my old scar. Tendrils pulsed in time with my heart, building on the ones before to an unseen height.

And I closed my eyes because I wanted to know nothing but her arms.