Quotes About Tenderness

A story is a burden which must be carried with as much care as we carry a sleeping child

You know what kind of a man Lonny Tooker is? The kind of a man that sets broken bird's wings." "Hitler loved dogs and babies," Dave said.

Tenderness is the repose of passion.

Tenderness is the repose of passion. — Joseph Joubert, The Notebooks of Joseph Joubert . (NYRB Classics; Main edition May 10, 2005) Originally published October 1983.

he pictured the soft sparkle in her pale green eyes when she had licked his stinging paws, and his fur began to prickle with a sensation he had not felt before.

Micah." Collapsing, Moth Flight pressed her cheek to his.

The tenderness in her tone, which had once been so familiar to me, now felt completely foreign. Hearing it again was like a knife in my heart.

Bisogna essere duri senza mai perdere la tenerezza.

Sometimes...I will stand ...and look upon the babe's face at a distance. I almost cannot bear it: the soft skin, the tenderness, the eyes so guileless and trusting. I would almost wish the innocent to be stricken at once, there, in God's house. To keep such purity intact. From the arms of God to the arms of God.

People are mostly layers of violence and tenderness wrapped like bulbs, and it is difficult to say what makes them onions or hyacinths.

He felt her hand creep from her muff into his pocket as they walked the snowy streets to buy their Christmas tree; dusted the pollen off her nose after he had brought her the first king-cups. By the gay and gilded fountains of Peterhof they bandied preposterous names for their unborn child. At night, in their big wooden bed, he watched her spoon cherry jam into her tea and told her that her habits were disgusting, that he loved her more than life itself.

Aware that she was on the edge of the abyss, that he must call her back very gently, he laid only the lightest of hands on her hair.

Rupert looked down at the little upturned face with its mass of freckles and marigold curls and a wave of tenderness for Muriel swept over him. She could so easily have wanted to choose someone of her own. "I think you're going to be absolutely beautiful," he said.

Die Liebe macht offenbar kindisch.

Quand tout change pour toi la Nature est la même Et le même soleil se lève sur tes jours. Ami Vous êtes mort pour mon amour Et je meurs, ami, de tendresse Car je n'ai pu venir à temps Ni n'ai pu forcer le destin Pour vous guérir de votre mal. Si je fusse à temps venue La vie je vous eusse rendue Et parlez doucement à vous, De l'amour qui fut entre nous.

Sapphire knew full well what Miz Obee was doing, but she always looked at her friend with tenderness in her eyes and pretended not to notice. As I watched this silent exchange between Sapphire and Miz Obee, it occurred to me that that's what friends should do: cherish the good and pretend not to notice the harmless rest.

She gazed up at his face, ran her fingers along his unshaven cheeks. "I missed you." He pulled her into his arms. She relaxed into him and let him hold her. She could feel the rhythm of his heart and pressed her lips against the soft cotton T-shirt that covered his chest. "I missed you," she whispered again. He stepped back for a moment, holding her at arm's length. "I missed you, too.

He mopped her face and thought how beautiful she was -- hair in a glorious tangle, a pink nose and puffy eyes, and swathed in a shapeless dressing gown only fit for the dustbin. The thought struck him with some force that he had fallen in love at last -- that, indeed, he had been in love for some time.

A woman can only go so far on strength alone; at some point, she needed tenderness.

Sweetness drops from your lips, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue.

He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her, little by little by little.

There is only love.

Alors, sûr d'être aimé, il ne se gêna pas pas, et insensiblement ses façons changèrent. Il n'avait plus, comme autrefois, de ces mots si doux qui la faisaient pleurer, ni de ces véhémentes careses qui la rendaient folle. // Elle n'y voulut pas croire; elle redoubla de tendresse; et Rodolphe, de moins en moins, cacha son indifférence.

The tenderness of the old days came back to their hearts, full and silent as the flowing river, with the softness of the perfume of the syringas, and threw across their memories shadows more immense and more sombre than those of the still willows that lengthened out over the grass.