Quotes About Affection

Is this your feller?" "No, not really," I say, and Peter throws his arm around my shoulder and says, "Yes, sir. I'm her feller

I put my freezing hands on his cheeks and instead of pushing them away, he said, "Ahh, feels good." I laughed and said, "That's because you're coldhearted." He put my hands in his coat pockets and said in a voice so soft I wondered if I heard him right, "For everyone else, maybe. But not for you.

I like to save things. Not important things like whales or people or the environment. Silly things. Porcelain bells, the kind you get at souvenir shops. Cookie cutters you'll never use, because who needs a cookie in the shape of a foot? Ribbons for my hair. Love letters. Of all the things I save, I guess you could say my love letters are my most prized possession.

Good," he says, and he takes my hand, and he closes my locker door, and he walks me to class like a real boyfriend, like we're really in love. How was I supposed to know what's real and what's not? It feels like I'm the only one who doesn't know the difference.

We smile at each other and I feel that wonderful sensation of being known by someone.

I don't want to.. you know, fall for you any worse than I already have.

It's not yours. I never gave it to you. You just took it." That's when I finally got it. I finally understood. It wasn't the thought that counted. It was the actual execution that mattered, the showing up for somebody. The intent behind it wasn't enough. Not for me. Not anymore. It wasn't enough to know that deep down, he loved me. You had to actually say it to somebody, show them that you cared. And he just didn't. Not enough.

But then I see the way he is looking at me, with such tenderness, and I stop.

At first it was scary, but then I liked it too. Part of me wants to just stay next to you forever. I could easily do that. I could love you forever.

Smirky mouths make you want to kiss them, to smooth them out and kiss the smirkiness away.

For the briefest of moments his eyes search mine, and I know he's looking for reassurance. That's when I put my arms around him and hug him tight to me, tight enough that he knows I'm here; I won't let go.

He definitely likes her," Kitty agrees, her mouth full. "He . . . he looks at you a lot, Lara Jean. When you're not paying attention. He looks at you, to see if you're having a good time.

I don't think relationships are just physicality. There are ways to show you care about someone, not just using your lips... Or any other body part.

And grumbling, he does it, in front of everybody, which is how I know he is utterly and completely mine.

He doesn't know it, but when Peter talks about Genevieve, he gets a certain softness in his face. It's tenderness mixed with impatience. And something else. Love. Peter can protest all he wants, but I know he still loves her.

This is two romantic things in a row, so I figure I should praise him accordingly, because the boy responds well to positive reinforcement.

All of this love crap makes me want to puke.

But then I saw the way he blushed, the way he looked off into space, and I knew it wasn't for me.

I like him in sweaters. I get the urge to cuddle and pet him like a stuffed animal.

Conrad and I were linked, we would always be linked. That wasn't something I could do away with. I knew that now- that love wasn't something you could erase, no matter how hard you tired.

I lie back down and close my eyes and imagine his arms are still around me, and that's how I fall asleep.

Once I asked her why she didn't like nuts on her sundae, and she said she did like them, but I loved them. And she loved me.

When I'm back in my room in my flannel nightgown, I get out my special flowy pen and my good thick stationery, and I start to write. Not a good-bye letter. Just a plain old love letter. Dear Peter…

I like the way he looks at me, like I am a wood nymph that he happened upon one day and just had to take home to keep. Peter