Quotes About Romance

She fell in love with him, and he with her; that's a spell if you like.

He wasn't really boring. She just wasn't in love with him.

Sir Richard ignored this, staring at Robin, who was staring at his feet. I love her, you see, he said at last, indistinctly. Sir Richard grimaced. A fine way you have of showing it. A fine thing I should love her at all, do you not think? Robin said, looking up.

Falling in love was easy-when romantic attraction was combined with hungry, unsated desire, they formed a glamorous, glittering bauble as fragile as it was alluring, a bauble that could shatter as soon as it was grasped. Tenderness was a different story. It had staying power and the promise of a future.

Good evening, Lord Corwin,' said the lean, cadaverous figure who rested against a storage rack, smoking his pipe, grinning around it. Good evening, Roger. How are things in the nether world?' A rat, a bat, a spider. Nothing much else astir. Peaceful.' You enjoy this duty?' He nodded. I am writing a philosophical romance shot through with elements of horror and morbidity. I work on those parts down here.

She finished her drink and put it down. It's getting chilly out here. Yes. Let us repair within. I'd like to repair. I put down my cigar and we stood and she kissed me. So I put my arm around her trim and sparkling, blue-kept waist and we moved away from the bar, toward the archway, through the archway and beyond, into the house we were leaving. Let's make it a triple-asterisk break: ***

The thing had been quite unpremeditated on my part. I had not even thought of her as a woman until she came into my arms and revised my thinking on the subject.

The Winter Photograph was my Ariadne, not because it would help me discover a secret thing (monster or treasure), but because it would tell me what constituted that thread which drew me toward Photography. I had understood that henceforth I must interrogate the evidence of Photography, not from the viewpoint of pleasure, but in relation to what we romantically call love and death.

The lover's discourse is usually a smooth envelope which encases the Image, a very gentle glove around the loved being.

4 de noviembre Esta noche, por primera vez, he soñado con ella; estaba acostada pero nada enferma, con su camisón rosa comprado en un supermercado...

How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears.

In the next poem, Hamilton has suddenly metamorphosed into a jaded rake, who begins with a shocking, Swiftian opening line: 'Celia's an artful little slut.

Its couplets included these lines: "Before no mortal ever knew / A love like mine so tender, true…No joy unmixed my bosom warms / But when my angel's in my arms.

Tal como em seus primeiros poemas de amor juvenis em Santa Cruz, Hamilton era capaz de imaginar as jovens como deusas castas ou como megeras atrevidas. Talvez ele não soubesse ainda qual tipo preferia.

Then, on September 1, 1802, Callender broke a story that he had learned about in jail and that was to reverberate down through American history: Jefferson's scandalous romance with Sally Hemings: "It is well known that the man whom it delighteth the people to honor, keeps and for many years has kept, as his concubine, one of his slaves. Her name is Sally. . . . By this wench Sally, our President has had several children.

I'm doing this in love.

think she was also thinking, perhaps, of Justine, up there in the big house among the tall candles and the oil-paintings by forgotten masters.

What was your guy's name?" "Archibald," I said. "That's the kind of name you don't hear often." "Lowland Scottish," I said. "Via Old French and Old High German. The third Earl of Douglas was called Archibald the Grim. No such romance in my case. My guy was called Archibald the worthless piece of shit.

We tore each other's clothes off like they were on fire. She was gorgeous. Firm and strong and a shape like a dream. Skin like silk. She pulled me to the floor through bars of hot sunlight from the window. It was frantic. We were rolling and nothing could have stopped us. It was like the end of the world. We shuddered to a stop and lay gasping. We were bathed in sweat. Totally spent.

Now courting's a pleasure, and parting is grief, but a false-hearted lover is worse than a thief!

The most cherished goal in physics, as in bad romance novels, is unification.

A cowboy doesn't ask for much, that's my observation. A flashy ride, a pretty girl, momentary glory...

quixotically.

For readers worldwide, the attraction of romance novels seems to be that they provide hope, strength, and the assurance that happy endings are possible. Romance makes the promise that no matter how bleak things sometimes look, in the end everything will turn out right and true love will triumph -- and in an uncertain world, that's very comforting.