Quotes About Affection

I am exceedingly fond of her, he said. Which is not a particularly ardent thing to say, Viscount Luttrell pointed out.

He was, he realized without any real surprise, quite irrevocably in love with her. Her joy was his; her pain was his. There was no point in further denial—not to himself at least.

Ah, something about young love, I believe. There is no stopping it, apparently.

She felt that he could become a very close friend. And to a lonely person, friendship can seem a likely substitute for love.

I could not crave any other woman when there was you.

Do you not know that I love you more than is good for me?

Oh, she said. Well, that did not make any difference. I loved you regardless. And I loved you regardless, he said.

They strolled toward the causeway, and he took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. 'I am quite capable of moving of my own volition, I thank you,' Diana said, staring straight ahead. He looked down at her in feigned astonishment. 'I am quite sure you are,' he said. 'I would have swung you up into my arms if I had thought you were not.' He retained his hold of her hand.

And there was his love for Allie to be hidden from everyone and everything but his own heart.

She held out her right hand to him. He took it in his, held it in a firm clasp for a moment, and then raised it to his lips. If he tried to say anything more, he thought, smiling at her, he would surely disgrace himself by weeping.

She could not bear the thought of missing a single minute this evening in which she might be either looking at him or at least feeling his presence.

And he had felt all the responsibility of knowing that she was deeply in love with him.

She felt no uncontrollable physical passion. Only something far, far worse. Only a deep feeling of affection. Only a craving to get behind his mask—because he assuredly did wear one, however much he denied doing so. Only a longing to know the man as he was and to find that after all he was likable and lovable. Only a need to deny reality and find her fantasy lover again.

She loved him, Christina thought quite consciously. She was in love .

It was you who made my growing years bearable . . . You gave me everything you were able to give—you gave me love. It has been enough. It is the only thing that really matters, you know.

Can't you see? Have you been blind all these years? Haven't you known that it has always been you? Always?

It did not seem at all unnatural . . . to have Piers encircle her waist with one arm and draw her protectively against his side.

Henry wanted to hate him. She did hate him! But she could not stop herself from caring. She had grown to enjoy his companionship, to need his attention and approval. She had come to love him and want his caresses. She had given herself to him completely on that one night they had had together, and had believed that for him it had been as earth-shattering an experience as it had been for her.

I loved you passionately. I always dreamed of your loving me, far back where dreams are kept.

She had always known deep down that she had never recovered fully from his defection. She had loved him for so long that he had become part of her very being.

He was not sure how many minutes passed while they held each other and kissed each other as if they could never be close enough to satisfy the craving of their hearts. The depth of their very obviously mutual passion left him shaken and disoriented.

And you, Elizabeth? he had asked. Do you love me? Will you wait for me? Yes, she had answered with all the ardor of extreme youth. I love you, Robert, and I shall wait forever if I must.

He opened his mouth over hers.

And in the very center of her vision—and of her heart and her life—Gerard, the man she had always loved and always would.