Quotes About Affection

a man who would never bore me and who loved me in his own peculiar way, whom I would live with, and whose name I would bear.

For the sake of love, one could plunge into the molten metal: make steel with an admixture of myself and your image within me.

I...I loved him very much , and think that he too loved me - a little, when he looked back. But he was a poor officer and I, unfortunately, was a rich heiress and related to two generals. So they seperated us.

I love you wildly, insanely, infinitely.

Our opinions partake, more or less, of the prejudices of our class, party, or sect. We are all largely pledged, through interest, affection, or passion, to particular classes of opinion, and the strength of efforts to get released from these pledges, is the measure of our advancement.

Ah, my friends, Love, like a froward boy, with his hands full of sugar-plums, still cries for more.

It is the passion that is in a kiss that gives it its sweetness: it is the affection in a kiss that sanctifies it.

None but those who have loved can be supposed to understand the oratory of the eye, the mute eloquence of a look, or the conversational powers of the face. Love's sweetest meanings are unspoken; the full heart knows no rhetoric of words, and resorts to the pantomime of sighs and glances.

A mother's love is indeed the golden link that binds youth to age, and he is still but a child, however time may have furrowed his cheek, or silvered his brow, who can yet recall, with a softened heart, the fond devotion, or the gentle chidings, of the best friend that God ever gives us.

There's this illusion that homosexuals have sex and heterosexuals fall in love. That's completely untrue. Everybody wants to be loved.

True love is not rare at the age of a teen, but recognizing it as true love is.

Small said, "But what about when we are dead and gone, will you love me then, does love go on?" Large held Small snug as they looked out at the night, at the moon in the dark and the stars shining bright. "Small, look at the stars, how they shine and glow, some of the stars died a long time ago. Still they shine in the evening skies, for you see, Small, love like starlight never dies.…" —Debi Gliori No Matter What

Love blinds, yes, bit not nearly as much as wanting to be loved.

The two men—Charlie was still a boy, sure, but he was now taller than his grandfather—embraced with everything they had. They both squeezed their eyes shut. That was how Pops always hugged. Nothing was held back.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her and appreciated her and wanted us, especially now that Mom was gone, to be closer, that I know Mom would have wanted that. But I couldn't. I hugged her instead. Selma stiffened at first, startled by my aberrant display of affection, but then she relaxed. "It'll be okay," she told me. I

Also not surprising: He had fallen hard for Laszlo. He loved those walks, especially the one where he'd come through the door at the end of the day and Laszlo would greet him like a released POW on a tarmac—every day, without fail—and she'd drag him enthusiastically to the park as though she'd never been there before.

Corny, yes, but there you go. Purity. That was what hit you when you get lost looking at your own child—a purity that could be derived only from true, unconditional love. He loved Ryan so damned much.

Ellen and Al Bolitar—my grandmother likes to joke that they're "El-Al, like the Israeli airline"—greeted us at LAX airport. Grandma sprinted toward Myron and me, arms wide open, hugging us as though we were innocent men just released from serving an unjust prison term, which is to say, like a grandmother should. She hugged us with everything she had and then she looked us over, inspecting us to make sure that everything was how it should be.

She started for the bedroom. I reached for the door to the corridor. "Myron?" I turned toward her. She stood facing me full. She was beautiful and vulnerable and strong and she stood like she was readying to take a blow and I wanted to jump in the way and protect her. "What?" I asked. "I love you," Terese said. She

Sure, okay, enjoy World Book Day but celebrating reading one day a year is like getting some only on Valentine's Day.

We move to the dance floor. We face each other. She puts one hand on my shoulder and the other hand in mine. We start to dance. At some point Ema moves closer. She rests her head on my shoulder. I barely move. I barely breath. I just want this moment to last.

An old dog traipsed into the room on rigid legs. It looked like he was trying to wag his tail, but the result was a pitiful sway. He managed to lick Myron's hand with a dry tongue.

She looked at him, shook her head. "No man has ever loved me like you did." Silence. Myron held back the "what-about-Stoner" remark.

In love, there is always one who kisses and one who offers the cheek." –French proverb