Quotes About Romance

The story is told of Lincoln's first meeting with Mary at a festive party. Captivated by her lively manner, intelligent face, clear blue eyes, and dimpled smile, Lincoln reportedly said, "I want to dance with you in the worst way." And, Mary laughingly told her cousin later that night, "he certainly did.

The worst of a woman is that she expects you to make love to her, or to pretend to make love to her. —BARON CORVO

Chúng ta Ä'ang Ä'óng vai tình nhân nhÆ°ng Ä'ã v??t qua l?a tu?i làm tình nhân lâu l?m r?i

I was born when he kissed me, I died when he left me, I lived a few weeks while he loved me

Whether romance existed in him or not, sentimentality had no place at all.

What Mr Blyth has been engaged in was not love, my dear Francis. It was romance, a thing to which Mr Blyth has been very prone; together with melodrama. Whatever made you think that melodrama makes Mr Blyth uncomfortable? He revels in it.

All I gathered from that is that Francis Crawford is a raging harlot.

I hope you won't mind, because I haven't shaved since this morning, but I'm going to take you round the next quiet corner and kiss you.

Yesterday she looked like a Renaissance portrait stepped out of its frame. I put it down first of all to the effect of gold lamé, but on consideration, I think it was probably due to "lerve.

Yet no woman had ever so stirred his blood; she had only to look or speak to make the very bones shake in his body.

Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.

His voice was as intimate as the rustle of sheets.

Woman wants monogamy; Man delights in novelty. Love is woman's moon and sun; Man has other forms of fun. Woman lives but in her lord; Count to ten, and man is bored. With this the gist and sum of it, What earthly good can come of it?

Where's the man that could ease a heart like a satin gown?

I shudder at the thought of men.... I'm due to fall in love again

Prince or commoner, tenor or bass, Painter or plumber or never-do-well, Do me a favor and shut your face - Poets alone should kiss and tell.

My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, -- And I wish somebody'd shoot him.

Because your eyes are slant and slow, Because your hair is sweet to touch, My heart is high again; but oh, I doubt if this will get me much.

The lads I've met in cupid's deadlock Were - shall we say? - born out of wedlock

Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine; The second love was water, in a clear white cup; The third love was his, and the fourth was mine; And after that, I always get them all mixed up.

Oh, it's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them. I

De Profundis Oh, is it, then, Utopian To hope that I may meet a man Who'll not relate, in accents suave, The tales of girls he used to have?

Well, no, not married as such, but yes, there is a specific girl that I'm not married to.

There was more pleasure in one kiss from the man I loved than in thousand nights with a stranger.