Quotes About Romance

The Owl and the Pussycat went to seaIn a beautiful pea-green boat,They took some honey, and plenty of money,Wrapped up in a five-pound note.The Owl looked up to the stars above,And sang to a small guitar,"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,What a beautiful Pussy you are."

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea green boat...

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, "I love you

Never invest so much in anyone romantically that you lose your head. The Buddha of casual sex, I remain detached at all costs.

Please pray for me. I am going to fall in love.

Sex touches and plays the body and love, knocks and fragrances the soul.

She was only a year or two older than Musashi, but how different they were in their experience of love. Watching him sit so stiffly, restraining his emotions, avoiding her face as though a look at her might blind him, she felt once again like a sheltered maiden experiencing the first pangs of love.

She'd asked him, back then, when he'd first started liking her. "The moment I first saw you," he'd replied, of course. His feelings were running so high then, he'd have believed anything. He was certain he was not lying. But in fact, the moment when he first saw her was not all that clear in his mind.

Maybe every man has two such women—at least two. Marry a red rose and eventually she'll be a mosquito-blood streak smeared on the wall, while the white one is "moonlight in front of my bed." Marry a white rose, and before long she'll be a grain of sticky rice that's gotten stuck to your clothes; the red one, by then, is a scarlet beauty mark just over your heart.

Mon Amour, Toujours. All My Love

But if I paid attention, really paid attention maybe I could ignore the mountain of sadness and she might entertain and distract me and I would think this is life. The romance and the sadness. I am in it now. I did do that which is what happened.

What was romance but a lovely bit of play between man and woman?

This time he just inhaled, deep and luxurious. The inhale was to fill up on her scent, she knew. The exhale was her name, just that, warm and moist against her skin.

He stared at the heart of his heart, the one woman in the world for him

It pained her deeply to realize Alysandir wasn't her romantic hero she had pegged him to be. In truth he was no more attainable than her dreams of Mr. Darcy. – Isobella Douglas

Just what do you want?" Her answer had been, My very own Mr. Darcy. And hadn't she wished for a "darkly handsome man, heroic, upstanding, and moral, with a heart filled to overflowing with love to her rescue and sweep her off her feet?" She nodded to herself. Yes, I did. And didn't that fit Alysandir, right down to the rescue and sweeping her off her feet and into his arms? – Isobella Douglas

To find Mr. Darcy, she would have to go back in time… – Isobella Douglas

He tried to kiss me. One of the few things that had impressed me in college was a Southern girl's account o how she avoided being kissed on the doorstep of her house once by wearing a flower in her hair and sticking it in her mouth when she said good night. Only I had no flower.

this must be part of some pathetic fallacy, whereby if you fall in love with one man, all men instantly become desirable, whether they actually are or not.

We went to a movie and he kissed me for the first time. We kissed right through it... "Now let's kiss somewhere else," said Max.

An American writer who had come to visit France . . . asked quite naturally what it was that had kept me here so long. . . It was useless to answer him in words. I suggested instead that we take a stroll through the streets. —HENRY MILLER ON LIVING IN PARIS