Quotes About Tenderness

all night he talks and holds me, all night he loves me slow and careful.

I am proud only of those days that pass in undivided tenderness.

Birgitte's breast held a strangely soft heart for small boys, especially ugly ones.

I knew I couldn't sleep with her. I don't know - in my small experience of women, I've found it to hard to sleep with them at such times. Times when you get impression that there's more to them than an opportunity. Sleeping with girls was great, sleeping with people was a bit more complicated. Maybe it was a bad thing, maybe a sign of my immaturity, but I knew that there was some kind of tenderness in it as well.

It was the tenderness mingled with melancholy which we bring to a time that belongs irrevocably to the past, when a pale, delicate shadow rises from it bearing the lilies of the dead, and in it we find a forgotten likeness to ourselves. And that faint, wistful shadow, that pale scent, seemed to vanish away into a wide, full, warm stream – the life that now lay open before him.

And my eyes fill up with tears because this man's very fingertips are in love with me.

Don't give up all your romance, Anne, he whispered shyly, a little bit is a good thing - not too much, of course, but keep a little of it, Anne, keep a little of it.

Shirley, the little brown boy, as he was known in the family Who's Who, was asleep in Susan's arms. He was brown-haired, brown-eyed and brown-skinned, with very rosy cheeks, and he was Susan's especial love. After his birth Anne had been very ill for a long time, and Susan mothered the baby with a passionate tenderness which none of the other children, dear as they were to her, had ever called out. Dr. Blythe had said that but for her he would never have lived.

She felt as if love was all about her and around her, breathed out from some great, invisible, hovering Tenderness. One couldn't be afraid or bitter where love was - and love was everywhere.

She felt as if love was all about her and around her, breathed out from some great, invisible, hovering Tenderness.

Dorrie dear, smooth that pucker out.

El amor era un potente estimulante [...] que uno tenía que saborear con extrema prudencia, con sorbos pequeños y refinados, igual que el licor de cerezar.

If I don't say it enough, Jean-Claude, I love you, I love seeing your face across the table while we eat, and watching you root at Cynric's football games, and watching you read bedtime stories to Matthew when he stays with us, and a thousand surprising things, all of it, its you, and I love you. You will make me cry. A smart friend told me that it's okay to cry, sometimes you're so happy it spills out your eyes.

You saved me because you could not bear the thought of leaving me behind." He touched my face, very gently. "Not from a sense of right and wrong, but because you are just that tenderhearted.

He lifts one of my hands and raises it to his cheek, a gesture so tender and unexpected that my breath catches in my throat. I feel the blood rising to my cheeks, and I look down at my lap. I can't meet his eyes.

His look felt like a touch

Don't forget how to be gentle, she warned. Don't let the hardness of the world steal the softness of your heart.

Underneath an artist's preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions that allow the forebrain to chatter) there is a soul tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tenderness in the world.

If she ever knew me at all she must later have discovered that for those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made—ironic tenderness and silence.

we who have travelled much and loved much: we who have -- I will not say suffered for we have always recognized through suffering our own self-sufficiency -- only we appreciate the complexities of tenderness, and understand how narrowly love and friendship are related

An artist does not have a personal life as we do, he hides it, forcing us to go to his books if we wish to touch the true source of his feelings. Underneath all his preoccupations with sex, society, religion, etc. (all the staple abstractions which allow the forebrain to chatter) there is, quite simply, a man tortured beyond endurance by the lack of tenderness in the world.

The old love was slowly metamorphosed into admiration, just as his physical longing for her (so bitter at first) turned into a consuming and depersonalized tenderness which fed upon her absence instead of dying from it.

for those of us who feel deeply and who are at all conscious of the inextricable tangle of human thought there is only one response to be made — ironic tenderness and silence.

The ideal of warriorship is that the warrior should be sad and tender, and because of that, the warrior can be very brave as well.