Quotes About Romance

Tha gràdh agam ort, mo chridhe

Diana Gabaldon

But here," he said, so softly I could barely hear him, "here in the dark, with you … I have no name.

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?" "Absence," I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. "And fonder. If anything's growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn't be his heart.

Diana Gabaldon

I want you Claire. I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

Well," I said, "he drinks a bit. And he's rather fond of sheep. But he might remember the words to the wedding ceremony.

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

Let me tell ye in your sleep how much I love you. For there's no so much I can be saying to ye while ye wake, but the same poor words, again and again. While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them. Go

She's goin' about now bare as a wee lassie?" "She says," I replied delicately, "that men find it erotic.

Diana Gabaldon

Diana Gabaldon

But as spring blooms, the birds grow drunk with love and the bushes riot with their songs.

Tad bu?iuoki mane tu šimt? syki?, Vis? t?kstant?, antr? šimt? syki?, V?l dar t?kstant?, dar ne vien? šimt?... Daugel t?kstan?i? kai sud?sim šitaip, Juos sujaksime, kad neb?t? skai?iaus.

something to do with that.

She had dark hair, very wavy, bound back from her brow with a rose-colored ribbon but falling loose down her back, nearly to her waist. He had actually raised a hand to stroke it before catching hold of himself. Then she turned around. Pale skin, big dark eyes, and an oddly knowing look in those eyes when she met his own—which she did, very directly, when he set the third chair down before her. Annalise

Can I decline a nymph so divine? Her voice like a flute is dulcis; Her oculus bright, her manus white And soft, when I tacto, her pulse is. O how bella, my puella I'll kiss in secula seculorum; If I've luck, sir, she's my uxor, O dies benedictorum.

Well, I'll tell ye, Sassenach, 'graceful' is possibly not the first word that springs to mind at 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.