Quotes About Lover

I'm a lover of fairs and corn dogs.

He touched your face? Kee-rist, Donald." He undulated awkwardly in his seat belt. "Do you want to describe the circumstances, lover, or should I just draw my own sensational conclusions and stick it all in your 'Seven Since June' file? Crimenee. You're just—incredible.

I did, however, manage to do it without hurting those dogs. Very considerate of me. Don't let it be said I'm not an animal lover-that wretched kitsune aside.

And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

Al was looking at me in disbelief. "Not your lover?" "No." "But he is Rachel candy," Al said, his confusion too honest to be faked.

He was not her therapist now but her lover, and if you couldn't make your lover angry, then what kind of lover was he? She saw the awful bind that one was put in when one's lover was also one's therapist-- how their objective eye and soothing voice could become the distancing device of a professional manner. A man doing his job--it was intolerable to be judged by such an eye, as if he were somehow above it all, and did not have any problems himself, any emotions that he could not control.

Sleep is not, with me, a mere switching off: it is a very positive pleasure to be supped and savoured with expertise. It was a good night; sleep pampered me like a familiar, salty mistress who yet always has a new delight with which to surprise her jaded lover.

The book is a body and your mind will mold to its individual curves much in the way it will to any other lover-- at least, until it buckles beyond us.

Life is a wave of love for a lover, a gift for a giver, a drama for an actor, and a canvas for a painter.

When the mind becomes like a beautiful woman It bestows all that you want of a lover. Can you go that deep? Instead of making love in the body With other children of God, Why not seek the true Lover Who is always in front of you With open arms? Then you will be free of this world at last Like me.

Animal lover, reluctant princess, and lover of trousers. When in residence, she'd be more comfortable wearing something like this!

Happiness, in the land of Deals, is measured on a sliding scale. What makes you happy? A long white silent car with smoked-glass windows, with a chauffeur and a stocked bar and two beautiful objects of desire in the back seat? An apartment in a nice part of town? A kinder lover? A place to stand that's out of the wind? A brief cessation of pain? It depends on what you have at the moment I ask that question, and what you don't have. Wait a little, just a little. The scale will slide again.

I love to go to sleep, when bed takes me like a lover

Underneath my stiffened gown Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin, A basin in the midst of hedges grown So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding, But she guesses he is near, And the sliding of the water Seems the stroking of a dear Hand upon her.

I won't wear fur - never, ever. I'm an animal lover. I wouldn't even wear faux fur. I prefer to go the cheap route and not shave my legs.

It's cool for me because I'm a director, but I'm also a teacher. I'm a lover of cinema, and I love working with people who are hungry and have the energy to really do better work.

Unlike my dead lover, I refuse to/ choose the day I shock the world. There's no/ mystery left in suicide. The challenge is, my love,/ to keep yourself awake/ despite the sleeping pill doses of sickness and/ despair.

Your ghost will walk, you lover of trees,(If our loves remain)In an English lane.

The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard.

As he did so, a wind rose up around him, around the man who had been called lord, Dragon Reborn, king, killer, lover and friend.

Daughter of the Night, she walks again. The ancient war, she yet fights. Her new lover she seeks, who shall serve her and die, yet serve still.

The old graveyard heard the most charming sound in the world…the low yielding laugh of a girl held prisoner by her lover.

There was some unresolved inner knot which she wished to untie and which was quite beyond my skill as a lover or a friend. Of course. Of course. I knew as much as could be known of the psychopathology of hysteria at that time.

These are the moments which possess the writer, not the lover, and which live on perpetually. One can return to them time and time again in memory, or use them as a fund upon which to build the part of one's life which is writing. One can debauch them with words, but one cannot spoil them.