Quotes About Romance

Somehow a bachelor never quite gets over the idea that he is a thing of beauty and a boy forever.

Why does a man take it for granted that a girl who flirts with him wants him to kiss her - when, nine times out of ten, she only wants him to want to kiss her?

A husband is what is left of the lover after the nerve has been extracted.

A bachelor never quite gets ove the idea that he is a thing of beauty and a boy forever.

Falling in love consists merely in uncorking the imagination and bottling the common-sense.

To a woman the first kiss is just the end of the beginning but to a man it is the beginning of the end.

Envíeme poetas que sepan hablar del amor sin gimotear... Wyatt o Johnson o alguien por el estilo: lo dejo a su criterio. Pero que sea una edición linda y preferiblemente de pequeño formato, para poder metérmelo en los bolsillos de los pantalones y llevármelo a Central Park.

I hummed love songs, silent love songs the words of which I've forgotten, sang to myself for nights on end, never tiring of praising my love in song, it was just as it ought to be and I dreamed the whole of Germany had exploded and just we two were lying, buried alive, somewhere in the last warmth of ashes, the air was used up and I gave her my last breath in one long kiss—that kind of stuff, I take nothing of it back, it was right and it was marvelous.

I didn't love him. He was a good, decent guy, but I wanted more at that time." She shrugged. "I was not so young anymore. Time was passing for me. I wanted more… excitement.

We deceive ourselves a good deal about love. It is almost never what they say it is.

Parmi ces langues romanes, le français se définit comme un idiome issu du latin vulgaire importé en Gaule par les conquérants romains.

Mozart has the classic purity of light and the blue ocean; Beethoven the romantic grandeur which belongs to the storms of air and sea, and while the soul of Mozart seems to dwell on the ethereal peaks of Olympus, that of Beethoven climbs shuddering the storm-beaten sides of a Sinai. Blessed be they both! Each represents a moment of the ideal life, each does us good. Our love is due to both.

O May! robed in your gown of flowers, Nun-like, gaze from your balmy cell, Under your crown of asphodel, And sentinel all the summer hours; Rising among your daisy bowers, Like Venus from her cradled shell!

O May! your cheeks are sunset skies, Which the lips of the verge shall press, And the amber clouds caress-- Drifting along in the light which lies Over your soul-lit, jasmine eyes, In all its golden tenderness!

Of all the girls that are so smart,There's none like pretty Sally.She is the darling of my heart,And she lives in our alley.

A missing lover, a severed hand, but a body never discovered… An heiress and a bloodied gown…

Ha, ha, ha: love and scandal are the best sweetners of tea.

What is commonly called love, namely the desire of satisfying a voracious appetite with a certain quantity of delicate white human flesh.

Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.

Is not a kiss the very autograph of love?

Ah! The world is a new and a wide one to you, But the world to your sweetheart is shut, For a change never comes to the lonely Bush girl From the stockyard, the bush, and the hut; And the only relief from the dullness she feels Is when ridges grow softened and dim, And away in the dusk to the sliprails she steals To dream of past meetings with him.

To be in love is merely to be in a state of perceptual anesthesia--to mistake an ordinary young man for a Greek god or an ordinary young woman for a goddess.

She lit my soul and inhaled deeply Flicking my ashes occasionally.

He loved the twilight that surrounds The border-land of old romance; Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, And mighty warriors sweep along, Magnified by the purple mist, The dusk of centuries and of song.