Quotes About Romance

Sassenach," he said against my shoulder, a moment later. "Mm? "Who in God's name is John Wayne?" "You are," I said. "Go to sleep.

I want to take ye to bed. In my bed. And I mean to spend the rest of the day thinking what to do wit ye once I got ye there. So wee Archie can just go and play at marbles with his bollucks, aye?

He pressed me firmly to him, and I could feel that he was more than ready to get on with the business at hand. With some surprise, I realized that I was ready too. In fact, whether it was the result of the late hour, the wine, his own attractiveness, or simple deprivation, I wanted him quite badly.

Do ye want me to be a horse, a bear, or a dog?" "A hedgehog." "A hedgehog? And just how does a hedgehog make love?" he demanded. No, I thought. I won't. I will not. But I did. "Very carefully," I replied, giggling helplessly. So now we know just how old that one is, I thought.

And, Sassenach, he whispered, your face is my heart.

I am thinking that you're verra beautiful, Sassenach, he said softly. Maybe if one has a taste for gooseflesh on a large scale, I said tartly, stepping out of the tub and reaching for the cup. He grinned suddenly at me, teeth flashing white in the dimness of the cellar. Oh, aye, he said. Well, you're speaking to the only man in Scotland who has a terrible cockstand at sight of a plucked chicken.

I had kissed my share of men, particularly during the war years, when flirtation and instant romance were the light-minded companions of death and uncertainty. Jamie, thought, was something different. His extreme gentleness was in no way tentative; rather it was a promise of power known and held in leash; a challenge and a provocation the more remarkable for its lack of demand. I am yours, it said. And if you will have me, then..

Well, I'll tell ye, Sassenach, 'graceful' is possibly not the first word that springs to mind at the thought of you. He slipped an arm behind me, one hand large and warm around my silk-clad shoulder. But I talk to you as I talk to my own soul, he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. And, Sassenach, he whispered, your face is my heart.

He tolk both my hands in his, then, and kissed them - the left which still bore the gold ring of my marriage to Frank, and then the right, with his own silver ring.. Da mi basia mille, he whispered, smiling. Give me a thousand kisses. It was the inscription inside my ring, a brief quotation from a love song by Catullus. I bent and gave him one back. Dein mille altera, I said. Then a thousand more.

Flies round a honeypot would be nothin' to it, lad! Penniless and nameless as ye are now, the lasses still sigh after ye—I've seen 'em!" More snorting. "Even this Sassenach wench can no keep away from ye, and her a new widow!

There is nothing more delightful in life than a feather bed and an open fire—except a feather bed with a warm and tender lover in it.

When you kissed me like that well maybe you weren't so sorry to be marrying me after all.

I was dead, my Sassenach – and yet all that time, I loved you.

He said the greatest thing in a man's life is to lie wi' a woman he loves

I like ye fat, Sassenach," he said softly. "Fat and juicy as a plump wee hen. I like it fine.

He came through the front door just as I barreled into the hallway, and grabbed me round the waist, kissing me with sun-dusty enthusiasm and sandpaper whiskers. "You're back," I said, rather inanely. "I am, and there are Indians just behind me," he said, clutching my bottom with both hands and rasping his whiskers fervently against my cheek. "God, what I'd give for a quarter of an hour alone wi' ye, Sassenach!

And a long time," he said. "I am a jealous man, but not a vengeful one. I would take you from him, my Sassenach—but I wouldna take him from you.

It's not too late, you know," she said. She smiled, teasing a little tremulously. "You could still back out." "It's been too late for me since the day I saw you," he said gruffly.

Amphora," he murmured against the wide, sweet curve of her lips. His hands slid over the wide, sweet curve of her hips, cupping smoothness cool and solid, timeless and graceful as the swell of ancient pottery, promising abundance. "Like a Grecian vase. God, you've got the most beautiful arse!" "Jug-butt, huh?

We dangled our feet in the water, moving from shade to sun and back to shade as we grew too warm, talking of this and that and not much of anything, both aware of each other's smallest movement, both content to wait until chance should bring us to that moment when a glance should linger, and a touch should signal more.

He came through the front door just as I barreled into the hallway, and grabbed me round the waist, kissing me with sun-dusty enthusiasm and sandpaper whiskers.

Je t'aime, it said: I love you. Un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, pas du tout: A little, a lot, passionately—not at all.

One never stops to think what underlies romance. Tragedy and terror, transmuted by time. Add a little art in the telling, and voilà! a stirring romance, to make the blood run fast and maidens sigh.

Jamie was real, alright, more real than anything had ever been to me, even Frank and my life in 1945. Jamie, tender lover and perfidious blackguard.