Quotes About Tenderness

There is nothing sweeter in this sad world than the sound of someone you love calling your name.

He wanted to possess not the body but the soul of that woman; and to possess her entire soul, with all her tenderness, all her joys, all her fears, all her anguish, all her dreams, in other words, the entire lief of her soul; and to be able to say: I am the life of her life.

My beautiful Win. I wanted to kiss him on every last broken place, but his mother and my lawyer were there. So, instead I started to cry.

A year and a half later, she could tell the story to Dov as an amusing brunch anecdote, and she realized she wasn't angry at Sam anymore. She began to feel a tenderness toward Sam and even an empathy for him.

No one, not even the rain has such soft hands.

The warmth in his eyes flared to heat and he captured her hand in both of his, bending over it to hold his lips against the back a long moment. He did not exactly kiss it so much as breathe her in. She feared her hand smelled of bacon, but he didn't seem to care.

I would see a little Torquatus, stretching his baby hands from his mother's lap, smile a sweet smile at his father with lips half parted.

I'd love it if the first time I spent the night with a girl it was because she was tired," James says. "I'd love it if it were you.

You don't have in IN you to be like that, Hughie. You had too nice an upbringing. Your mom and dad were too good to you. And I wish you could see that you're not less of a MAN, or some sort of inferior person, just because you can't be harsh and hard and cold.

The grief ran down the highways with me—a mix of tenderness and sorrow that shifted with every passing town, with the far side of every mountain pass, at every place where pavement turned to dirt.

doting, the guy on the sideline at

they do not kiss but they both want to instead their feet touch and so do their arms it is electric magic their tiny arm hairs tingling happily lying together the sun warming them watching sky through green-leafed gum branch close enough to hear each other breathe sweet togetherness this lazy lying down dance of love

Before she knew it, it had found her finger and was contentedly sucking on it.

Like a girl, a baby running after her mother, begging to be picked up, and she tugs on her skirts, holding her back as she tries to hurry off—all tears, fawning up at her, till she takes her in her arms… That's how you look, Patroclus, streaming live tears.

Tenderness and ferocity are essential for a woman journeying far from home.

Dismiss these post facto accounts as legends if we must; there is no question but that in his life as the Buddha the springs of tenderness gushed abundant. Wanting to draw the arrows of sorrow from everyone he met, he gave to each his sympathy, his enlightenment, and the strange power of soul, which, even when he barely spoke a word, gripped the hearts of his visitors and left them transformed.

He turned out to be a tender and considerate lover, despite his unfortunate, sharply angled pubic bone, which first time hurt like hell. He apologised for it, as one might for a mad but distant relative. By which I mean he was not particularly embarrassed. We settled the matter by making love with a folded towel between us, a remedy I sensed he had often used before.

In her uncomfortable position, his mother cocked her head on one side as she prepared to listen. It was a habit Stephen himself had adopted. He could see their faces, the lined expressions of tenderness and anxiety. It was the aging, the essential selves enduring while the bodies withered away. He felt the urgency of contracting time, of unfinished business. There were conversations he had not yet had with them and for which he had always thought there would be time.

I feel more and more, every day of my life, how much my dear mamma has done for my establishment. I was the youngest of all her daughters, and she has treated me as if I were the eldest, so that my whole soul is filled with the most tender gratitude.

To experience the unique sense of elation that you have when your child is sleeping on your chest in an incomparable emotion.

What feeling is so nice as a child's hand in yours? So small, so soft and warm, like a kitten huddling in the shelter of your clasp.

The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.

There never was any heart truly great and generous, that was not also tender and compassionate.

When you hug someone you want it to be a masterpiece of connection, the way the button on his coat will leave the imprint of a planet in my cheek when I walk away.