Quotes About Tenderness

I cry now as I write this. So lasting are the scars of the child who never feels worthy of love. So many cycles in my life of having to learn that I am indeed worthy of tenderness.

His voice was affectionate but also flustered, like that of a child who had no idea what to do.

I wanted someone to hold me close so I slide across and snuggled in tight and said, 'Hold me.' He did, and it was tender and truly sweet, but without a trace of that wild carnal edge you would have to cross if you want to get so close together you can't tell each other apart. I pushed it. I said, 'I want to get closer. I want you to love who I am.' Love doesn't do much for the powers of explanation, but since Love has never asked for one itself, that seems fair enough.

I'll always touch you.

He was rarely tender, and seldom reached out to anticipate another's needs, though occasionally he would exhibit a sudden concern for another outlaw, hitchhiker, or bum, and go out of his way to see them looked after. He was touching and infinitely fragile. His indescribably white hands moved constantly: putting a cigarette almost to his mouth, then tugging relentlessly at a tuft of hair at his neck, inadvertently dumping the cigarette ashes in dusty cavalcades down his jacket.

In the end, I learned that the practice of Not-Knowing is the very ground of altruism, because it opens us up to a much wider horizon than our preconceptions could ever afford us and can let in connection and tenderness.

Finally, he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers. It was a light kiss, a feathering as soft as down, but enough to cause her eyes to drift closed as that familiar, shimmering warmth she'd never thought she'd ever feel again began to flow in her veins.

If there was a true moment that Tiger Lily fell so in love with Peter she could never turn back, it was that night, when he shivered and walked and told her he was warm, and told her he loves her so much.

Barky was at her heels, and he let out a low, plaintive growl. She scooped him up and held him to her face the way Birdie had held the kitten---so naturally. They sniffed each other's noses. It felt kind of good.

He smiled again, and I felt the smile in my fingers and in the soles of my feet; it invaded me like a bad spirit, and Tiger Lily shivered

Again, please," she whispered. (Allie to Wes)

William wanted to cup his hands again, to hold close his love for his wife, to hold close her love for him.

He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through æther, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation.

Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.

And this tenderness was not like That which a certain poet At the beginning of the century called true And, for some reason, quiet. No, not at all— It rang out, like the first waterfall, It crunched like the crust of bluish ice And it prayed with a swanlike voice, And it broke down right before our eyes.

True Tenderness" True tenderness is silent and can't be mistaken for anything else. In vain with earnest desire you cover my shoulders with fur; In vain you try to persuade me of the merits of first love. But I know too well the meaning of your persistent burning glances.

He was jealous, fearful and tender, He loved me like God's only light, And that she not sing of the past times He killed my bird colored white. He said, in the lighthouse at sundown: "Love me, laugh and write poetry!" And I buried the joyous songbird Behind a round well near a tree. I promised that I would not mourn her. But my heart turned to stone without choice, And it seems to me that everywhere And always I'll hear her sweet voice.

Seeing her was like standing in sunlight after a long, hard winter, but he couldn't be easy meeting her in such surroundings. "Oh, Jonas," she said in a broken voiced started to cry. "Tesoro... sweetheart... my love," he choked out, cradling her in his arms. "Don't cry. Please don't cry.

Seeing her was like standing in sunlight after a long, hard winter, but he couldn't be easy meeting her in such surroundings. "Oh, Jonas," she said in a broken voice and started to cry. "Tesoro... sweetheart... my love," he choked out, cradling her in his arms. "Don't cry. Please don't cry.

I don't know how to please you," she whispered. For the first time since he'd burst into her room, tenderness softened his smile. Her blood melted to syrup as those strong hands rose to cradle her head. "You don't have to do anything, mo chridhe. Your mere presence pleases me more than I can say." He paused, then spoke with more emphasis, in case she misunderstood. "You please me." The

He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss, lingering for a moment. When a small, surprised gasp escaped her lips, he felt a surge of satisfaction. "There

He watched her, listened to her, and knew she was truly asleep. He kissed her forehead and found the act pleasing for its own sake. And, he admitted as he licked his lips, it was enjoyable for other reasons. Meg wasn't bitable, but he really did like the taste of her.

You'll have the use of my body, Breck, until my mother is dead, but that's all you'll have of me. Not one word of tenderness, not one ounce of compassion or concern. If you're tired, if you're hurt, if you're sick, plan to go elsewhere for succor, because you won't find it with me! Those are my terms, Breck, and they're the only terms you'll get from me.

Little Girl, My Stringbean, My Lovely Woman