Quotes About Affection

Love is a decision.

I'm quite fond of my grudge. I tend it like a little pet.

He was too damned grateful to have her. A woman wants to be adored but she doesn't want reverence.

Jimmy is looking adoringly down at Connie's dark head. What would it have been like to have a man love you like that? Would it have changed something fundamental in your psyche to wake up each morning knowing that you were loved, that someone wanted to touch your body even when it got all old and wrinkly?

I'll tell you something, something important. Love is a decision. Not a feeling.

She was so transparent. Always a Daddy's girl. It was Stan's approval she so desperately craved, as if it were withheld from her, and yet she'd always had it, from the moment he first held her. Brooke was Stan's favorite. Everyone knew it except for Brooke.

and she feels a rush of motherly affection for her, so much so that she even considers tucking the blanket under Veronika's chin, except she doesn't want to risk waking her and feeling her affection evaporate.

Now that's true love: a man who is prepared to wear a cravat for you.

It is funny how you do not miss affection until it is given, but once it is, it can never be enough; you would drown in it if possible.

Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.

When a person gives, he loves the object of his giving more -- and so love is planted and grows.

Down like she supposed to be, She gets down low for me, Down like her temperature, cause to me she zero degrees, Shes cold, overfreeze, I got that girl from overseas, Now she my miss America, now can I be her soldier please? Im fighting for this girl, On the battlefield of love, Dont it look like baby cupid sendin arrows from above? Dont you ever leave the side of me, Indefinitely, not probably, and honestly Im down like the economy.

Baby, I can bless you when you aint even sneezin.

Hater, hater, hater I love you so much.

His thumb stroked my cheek. My eyes half-closed. When he spoke next, it was very softly, his voice an almost-physical caress against my whole body. My flesh tightened like a harpstring. I swallowed hard against the wave of liquid heat. "How can I possibly be jealous when I know you spent your time grieving for me, Dante?

Well, duh. You're cuter than she is." He said it like he might say, Grass is green or, Gravity works. Something warm opened up inside my chest. It was a nice feeling.

I dislike the thought of damage to you.

Becca, though, I married. I don't know how other people do it, not stay with the girl whose ankle socks made your stomach flip at age fourteen, whose wet hair smells like your past—the girl who was with you the very moment you were introduced to happiness.

He kissed where I was touching, just below my collarbone, in that place where all my feelings got caught. I believed she'd sent him to me as a gift to help me through.

I still have moments when I feel that, when it feels like she's inside me, and there's no difference between us or that the difference doesn't matter. I think it is all that love. All that love has to go somewhere.

She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease: her skin felt as though it was her right size.

I held her as she wept. I stroked her hair, loose and slightly matted. 'Stay here with me. Or let me come with you.' She pulled me down to kiss her. Warm. Briny. 'I love you,' she said, her lips still against mine. But it meant no.

And I kiss him. A long uninterrupted kiss that goes straight through my body, ringing it in the very best way.

Did love, she wondered, include this desperate yearning to present the world as truly beautiful to someone else?