Quotes About Affection

Je t'aime, it said: I love you. Un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, pas du tout: A little, a lot, passionately—not at all.

You said you could tear me limb from limb without touching me, I said. You were right, damn you. I am sorry, he whispered again, but this time he reached for me, and held me tight against him. That I loved you? Don't be sorry for that, I said, my voice half muffled in his shirt. Not ever.

Then I laid my head upon his chest and gave my dreams up to his keeping.

I suddenly realized how much I looked forward to seeing him at dinner after the day's work, how my heart would leap when I saw him unexpectedly at odd moments during the day, and how much I depended on his company and his solid, reassuring presence amid the complexities of life in the castle. And, to be perfectly honest, how much I liked the smooth, warm strength of him in my bed each night, and waking to his tousled, smiling kisses in the mornings. The prospect of his absence was bleak.

Mm, you're nice to croodle wi', he murmured, doing what I assumed was croodling.

Intimacy and romance are not synonymous.

I could feel his heart beating against my ribs, and wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, not moving

I have yearned always," he said softly, "for love given and returned; have spent my life in the attempt to give my love to those who were not worthy of it. Allow me this: to give my life for the sake of one who is.

To the last drop of my blood, mo duinne." "Mo duinne" I asked, a little disturbed by the intensity of this speech. (…) "It means 'my brown one.' " He raised a lock of hair to his lips and smiled, with a look in his eyes that started all the drops of my own blood chasing each other through my veins. "Mo duinne," he repeated, softly. "I have been longing to say that to you.

You alone, hold all my heart, whole in your hands. And you know that.

We come and go from mystery and, in between, we try to forget. But a breeze passing in a still room stirs my hair now and then in soft affection. I think it is my mother.

Stephan's hand left his breast, and reached out. Grey took it, and felt love flow between them. He thought that heart and body must be entirely melted - if only for that moment.

Mm. You'd forgotten how to say anything except 'I love you,' but you said that a lot.

Mo nighean donn," he whispered, "mo chridhe. My brown lass, my heart." "Come to me. Cover me. Shelter me, a bhean, heal me. Burn with me, as I burn for you.

sweeping off his hat. Taking her hand, he bowed

He grabbed her and held on, thinking that nothing in his life had ever felt better than the weight of her against him and the taste of her mouth, in spite of the fact that she'd plainly eaten onions for lunch

da mi basia mille, diende centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum Ã¢â'¬Â¦

Her breath was warm on his cheek, smelling of fried egg.

Gently, he turned me away from him and fitted himself to my back so we lay nested together. His hand cupped my breast, not in invitation or demand, but because it seemed to belong there.

He said the greatest thing in a man's life is to lie wi' a woman he loves, he said softly. He smiled at me, eyes blue as the sky overhead. He was right.

Oh, Claire, ye do break my heart wi' loving you.

smiled. "Wonderful. Perhaps now you'll stop putting flowers in my

Jamie," I said at last. "Oh, Jamie. You're Ã¢â'¬Â¦ everything. Always." An hour later, we left the Ridge.

When the day shall come that we do part, he said softly, and turned to look at me, if my last words are not 'I love you' - ye'll ken it was because I didna have time.