Quotes About Tenderness

The love she felt for Rob now was a burning tenderness, a knowledge that he was the one who'd taught he it was POSSIBLE to love, who had melted the ice of her heart. it was strong and gentile and steady, full of admiration and the intimacy of shared likes and dislikes. it was golden and warm like a summer afternoon.

I love you." she whispered into the rough wool of his sweater.

To give her some incentive, he took her hands away from her face and kissed her.  It was a soft, chaste kiss, but it wasn't short and it wasn't brotherly.

And … it was as simple as that. All questions answered, all fears put to rest, all doubts removed. What she felt was not merely passion, but a bruising tenderness and a love so strong it made her shake inside. It would have been frightening in its intensity, except that while she was with him, she could not be afraid of anything. She had come home. This was where she belonged, and she had found it at last. With Stefan, she was home.

When did he start to stroke and compassionate?

It was the first time either of them had ever held another's hand, and for them alone, the immensity of what unfolded that night was overshadowed by the perfect wonderment of fingers intertwined - as though this was what hands had always been for, and not for holding weapons at all.

War is all we've been taught, but there are other ways to live. We can find them, Akiva. We can invent them. This is the beginning, here." She touched his chest and felt a rush of love for the heart that moved his blood, for his smooth skin and his scars and his unsoldierly tenderness. She took his hand and pressed it to her breast and said, "We are the beginning.

Lazlo. You have to wake up now, my love. And he did.

What filled her wasn't desire, but tenderness, and a profund gratitude that he lived, and she did, too. That he had found her, and that he had found her again. And... dear gods and stardust... yet again. Let that be the last time he ever needed to come looking for her.

There is intimacy in pain. Anyone who has comforted a sufferer knows it—the helpless tenderness, the embrace and murmur and slow rocking together as two become one against the enemy, pain

I love you, crossbar,' whispered Karou and petted it.

Hay intimidad en el dolor. Cualquiera que haya consolado a alguien que sufre lo sabe —la indefensa ternura, los abrazos y susurros, y el lento balanceo conjunto mientras dos se vuelven uno contra el enemigo, el dolor—.

Seeing her shiver, I want to take her into my coat and button it around her. I want to warm my face against her neck and steam her up like a mirror and write my name on her with my fingertip.

Dorul ei de dragoste o facea sa se simta ca un pisoi care se invartea mereu printre glezne, mieunand Mangaie-ma, mangaie-ma, uita-te la mine, iubeste-ma .

She wanted what her hands wanted: to touch Akiva, and not just with her fingertips, and not with caution, and not with fear of causing him pain. She wanted to hold him and be held, in soft perfect unity, like slow-dancing. She wanted to fit herself to him, breathe him, come alive against him, discover him, hold his face as he had held hers, with tenderness. With love .

Sus ojos se dirigieron hacia Akiva. La manera en que la miraba... era como si la tocara.

There is only one word of tenderness we could say, which we have not said oftentimes before ; and there is no consolation in it. The happy never say, and never hear said, farewell.

She realized that this scarred, sarcastic boy, was gentle with the things he loved.

He was still stroking the inside of her wrist, his touch doing odd delicious things to her skin and nerves.

He touched her as he usually touched his beloved violin, with a soft and urgent grace that left her breathless.

It was odd, (Tessa thought), what brought out tenderness in people.

Tessa was laying on her side, her brown hair spread over the pillow, watching Will, whose face was bent over the pages, with a look of tenderness in her eyes, a tenderness mirrored in the softness of Will's voice as he read.

And then she said nothing else, for Henry put his arms around her and kissed her. Kissed her in such a way that she no longer felt plain, or conscious of her hair or the ink spot on her dress or anything but Henry, whom she had always loved. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, and when he drew away, he touched her wet face wonderingly. "Really," he said. "You love me, too, Lottie?

She looked up from closing it to find Jace watching her through hooded eyes. "And one last thing," he said. He reached over and pulled the sparking pins out of her hair, so that it fell in warm heavy curls down her neck. The sensation of hair tickling her bare skin was unfamiliar and oddly pleasant. "Much better," he said, and she thought this time that maybe his voice was uneven too.