Quotes About Romance

Dicho de otra forma. Yo tenía diecinueve años y sabía que el amor era incorruptible, a prueba del tiempo y del deterioro.

Nowadays we talk about transactional sex, and recreational sex. No one, back then, had recreational sex. Well, they might have done, but they didn't call it that. Back then, back there, there was love, and there was sex, and there was a commingling of the two, sometimes awkward, sometimes seamless, which sometimes worked out, and sometimes didn't.

don't believe in destiny, as I may have said. But I do believe now that when two lovers meet, there is already so much prehistory that only certain outcomes are possible.

In the States, the Abdication story, for example, is portrayed as The World Well Lost For Love while the English, of a certain type anyway, see it only as childish, irresponsible and absurd.

Mary: "Don't be spiky, when I only want what you want – for you and Tony to walk into the sunset together." Mabel: "Then why turn up looking like a cross between a Vogue fashion plate and a case of dynamite?" Mary: "Well, I can't make it too easy for him.

I've either been in love a dozen times or never. I can't tell.

You think you'll fall in love again one day?" He straightens Partridge's bow tie. "I sure as hell hope not.

The message was sealed with a blob of wax but no press of a signet. She slid a finger beneath to crack the seal, and read: I apologize if I've ever behaved like an ass. It was the most romantic message she'd ever received. All other messages would strive to live up to it for the rest of her days. She was convinced of that in the moment.

What was love if not a certain pleasantly deluded familiarity built up over years?

When and if Violet ever fell in love, lightning would split the heavens, tectonic plates would shift, continents would reorder themselves. Because she might be willful and spoiled and impetuous, but no one loved with the force of his sister. Her love story would be epic.

A girl could forget her precise location in the universe when a man looked at her with eyes like those.

Did that kiss nearly destroy the memory of all other kisses, and become the benchmark against which all future kisses would be measured?

When Phoebe glanced back at the marquess he swiftly lifted that rogue lock of hair, pointed at his forehead and mouthed: Good aim. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Dear God, he was sporting a bruise! So that's where she'd clocked him with his hat! And this explained the forelock.

You are my dream, Cynthia.

Their faces were inches apart now, and he traced her lips with one finger, lightly, lightly, then placed his lips there as if he'd drawn them into being.

Good evening, Miss Eversea. You've stars in your hair.

Rebecca stared back at him, still dazed. She'd forgotten how to speak; it seemed an unimportant skill, anyhow, when such kisses were to be had, when a whole world could be made from a kiss.

Perhaps men like the Everseas were commonplace here in England. Perhaps finding a beautiful titled husband would be as simple as shaking an apple from a tree.

Backward now?' he suggested. 'Are you going to call out our lovemaking like a billiards game?

This man offered her forever. And if Prescott had asked a month ago...If he'd asked the day before she'd encountered Jonathan Redmond at midnight outside the Duke of Greyfolk's house... Ah, but she was a different woman now. One kiss had changed that. And a ballroom orgasm.

Murmured to him nonsense, which is the language of love

Nothing was more erotic than a big, hot, strong guy armed with a spreadsheet whose object was to make her life easier.

And she reached out with trembling fingers and touched one of the roses. It was, surprisingly... unconscionably soft. A message was sent along with it, Miss Genevieve. Harriet handed over the sheet of folded foolscap, closed with a blob of wax. No seal was pressed into it. Genevieve slid her finger beneath it to break the seal. 'My esteemed Venus- These reminded me of you. In my dreams, your lips are just this soft. - Your devoted servant, Mars

They really 'did,' you know, he said softly, suddenly. Did? She was puzzled. The roses. Remind me of you. They're precisely the sort of flowers you ought to have. Those spectacular, throbbing, lush blooms that now stood guard over her bed. With petals unconscionably soft.