Quotes About Romance

My rich Diana. Fly me to the moon with you. Dance among the stars. Treacle. Romantic hogwash. Derivative. Unworthy. My rich Diana. I hate you, hate you, hate you. Hate you, hate. Do it, he said.

In fact, time teaches us that the musical score of life oscillates between that of Psycho and that of The Sound of Music, with by far the greatest number of our days lived to the strains of an innocuous and modestly budgeted picture, sometimes a romance, sometimes a light comedy, sometimes a little art film of puzzling purpose and elusive meaning.

Although my perception might have been distorted by melancholy, it seemed to me that most of those people were in pairs, the larger percentage of them holding hands, as if they were extras in a movie of high romance, accessorizing a scene for which the director's purpose might have been to say that life was a parade lived two-by-two, as it had been since before Noah's fabled ark and as it would be always.

When I was a child, which was a shorter period of time for me than it was for most people, my mother sometimes implied that she might take me with her if she decided to consummate her romance with Death. My mother is beautiful, and to anyone who never lived with her, she seems to be a genteel and pleasant lady, if slightly aloof.

The romantic fragrances of yellowing paper

I didn't want him to think I was all that young, meaning too young for Sharona

Men are often made stupid by love.

Fiftyish, with a thickening waist and thinning blond hair, he had the weary look of a man who'd seen more death than he had bargained for when the romance of the healer's profession had long ago lured him into medical school.

I'd found love -- only to discover how fleeting it can be.

Your favorite author? This was an important question. I'd dated men who had never read a book. Reading was a passion of mine and I couldn't imagine being involved with someone who didn't understand the importance of books and stories.

His heart wanted Mary. And then it wanted Merry.

I kissed her." His words were met with silence and then, "How was it?" "On a scale of one to ten, it was about a hundred.

It was the kind of kiss that had the power to melt the panties right off a girl.

I'm sorry, but there just isn't any… spark between us." The line grew quiet. Then, "If you're looking for sparks, I suggest you snuggle up with an electric fence.

You are the most amazing woman I've ever known, Merry Knight, and I'm crazy about you and that dimple of yours.

Witch's spell or not, he would take her, possess her- own her. It wasn't his intent when he kissed her. Fires of damnation! He never planned to kiss the wench! It just...happened.

I lend you a thousand bucks to pay for a date with myself. I let you talk me into wearing a damn tuxedo. The least you could do is hold my hand.' - Paul van Dorn

Living in Paris might kill her, but it was a good way to die.

Being in your twenties has changed a lot since I was in my twenties, but it is still a time everything awful that happens is awful in a romantic way, even if you don't admit it (and you can't admit it because then you would be less important in the tragedy you're starring in, your own life)...because in your twenties you know, even if you don't admit this either, even if this is buried deep in your subconscious, that you can waste an entire decade and still have a life.

Romance only comes into existence where love is fatal, frowned upon and doomed by life itself.

What stirs lyrical poets to their finest flights is neither the delight of the senses nor the fruitful contentment of the settled couple; not the satisfaction of love, but its passion. And passion means suffering.

First I put my lips to her upper lip, then to the bottom of her pout, and then I kissed her fully, my mouth on her open mouth, and we met inside.

What happened, honey?" She melted at the endearment, at the look in his eyes. "I fell in love with you." Her words left her mouth on a rush of air. Something flared in his eyes. He pulled off his gloves, his eyes never leaving her, and cradled her face. His hands were warm and rough against her cold cheeks. "Eden . . .," he whispered. "I love you too.

It's odd how fast a beautiful woman can turn a guy's mind into lint storage. Just by being a beautiful woman.