Best 9447 quotes in «romance quotes» category

With callused hands i tasted the softness of the moon in the coldest winds i discovered my soul's warmest fireplace in the roughness of his stubble the tenderest love.

With each kiss in the cold house 
we swallow clouds of breath – exhaled spirit, speech bubbles
 we’d rather lick away 
than fill with words. We run naked from room to room, 
keeping the walls warm.
 Our bodies blur through the halls 
of your house, its winter circulation.

With Hank at her side, she would never really be blind again. His eyes were hers, just as he’d vowed. When they grew old, they would take walks at sunset, and she’d be able to see everything. His gift to her—pictures painted with words. Love wasn’t about easy, according to Hank. It was about sticking through thick and thin. He would always be with her, unless death took him first, and even then, Carly knew she’d never be left in complete darkness again. She would have the love of this man to light her way.

Within the same hour as the murder took place, Isabel Trumbo sat in her armchair dozing, the Alaskan Outdoor magazine on her lap. Her kid sister Alma fidgeted in the other armchair, from time to time picking up her newspaper folded over to the day’s crossword puzzle.

With Mr. Montgomery, I set out to see what it would be like to write a novel in 30 days. It was hell! I'd do it again in a minute.

With kisses like that, I wish this was the Universe where you were my soulfinder.

With his fingers, he followed the shape of her chin, her jaw, and learned her features, committing them to memory. Her face was small, her bones fragile. Exquisite.

With no sense of smell, your memories dropped like pennies out of a ripped pocket, until the past was ashes and your parents were blanks: nothing more than the holes in Swiss cheese.

With one kiss, my life had been altered. It would follow a different path now. One where a woman owned my heart.

Without a torch, I stumbled along the paths. The night was dismal. A partial moon hovered bitter and white on the horizon. It was the perfect night for murder.

With one touch of her hand, all my fears are hidden. It's almost like a vivid dream that can't go wrong

Without love, we are pointless. With it, we are infinite.

Without realizing what she was doing and more on an impulse than anything else, she leaned forward and kissed him. It was a simple, yet firm kiss and she pulled back after only a moment. But it sent a thrill through her. He leaned down for another. But she put her finger on his lips to stop him. "That was my reward to you," she said as they danced. "Don't squander it." "Reward? he asked still seeming both surprised and delighted at this unexpected attention. "What for?" "Why for living, Vaelros. And for doing so much else to help me. I will have you rewarded in state as well. But that was just from me." She saw Vaelros flush and she gave him a brilliant smile. "You don't like my reward?" she asked. "I do!" he replied. "I want only to learn how to earn more." The music was fading. The song was ending. Luthiel stepped back and let her hands drop. "A mysterious thing, my heart," she said.

Without her, I couldn't live.

Without love, life is nothing but work and sleep.

Without sensuality you will not be an interesting lover.

Without you, life has become meaningless, music has become melody-less, food has become tasteless, flowers have become colorless, the mind has become restless, and my heart has become feeling less.

Without thinking, I step a little closer, reaching out slowly to slide a fingertip over the largest petal of the lily tattoo on her lower back. Instantly a vibration moves up my arm, and I swear the mark on my hand burns against my skin. I clench my fingers into a fist, but I don’t step away. “Did you feel that?” she asks. I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I feel so much, always so much. She takes my hand and brings it to her side again, resting it on the violets. I look at the purple flowers between my fingers and feel the heat of her skin, the way it slides beneath my palm, soft as silk. And that vibration moves through my arm again. Her breath quickens. I find myself moving closer as her blue eyes go wide with wonder. My heart stutters and my chest aches with some unknown need. “Are you doing this?” I ask. Is she making me want this? “No,” she breathes. The smell of her turns to spice, sharp and warm, and I know I’m sensing her now, even through the block in the house. We stand like that for an eternity, still as statues on the outside, but inside I’m running, running toward a place I’ve never been. I should be terrified. But all I feel is strength. Rightness. And then Kara moves, her hands skimming up my chest, testing the boundaries. Her palms slide to my shoulders, her fingers tracing the line of the muscles in my arms, down to my waist. She grips my shirt, stretching it a little, waiting for me to tell her to stop. But I watch her lift it, let her pull it up, raising my arms, and I even take the last of it off myself, dropping it to the floor. We breathe, staring at each other. The vibrations move between us. My left arm buzzes with them. I think she’s doing it. Whatever’s happening, it’s her. I reach up and brush my marked knuckles across her cheek, amazed at the feel of her, the way her eyes seem to see everything, the way she pulls me into her. I can’t seem to remember why I shouldn’t kiss her. And kiss her. And . . . I kiss her, taking her face in both hands, skimming my thumb over her jaw as she leans into the touch, reaching out to curl her fingers around the back of my neck. I have to remind myself to breathe. I need more of her. The emotions roll over me in a rush, a tangle of sensation and movement, heat and sugar and heady aromas. I grip her tighter. Her nails dig into my shoulders. My hands slide down her spine. The kiss deepens, goes on forever, until I can barely see sense. I explore her shape, the feel of her ribs, the textures and taste of her skin on my tongue as I kiss her neck, her shoulders, her chest. As I draw trembling gasps from her lips, she grips me so hard it hurts. Our bodies mesh. Our breath mingles in frenzied desperation. Nothing else exists except her. Her warmth. Her spice. Her.

[W]ithout the League, you'd be nothing.

With riddles as black as coals, and answers as invisible as our past, I can only depend upon the crest of the rolling wave I now traversed; a romance worshiped only by the dreamer in us all, a psithurism of trust making its way through the years of our ascension to one day climb above the kaleidoscopic canopy of this mortal coil.

With that, I took a deep breath and leapt; spreading my arms, pretending I could fly . . .

With the music of our singing in the background, I looked at the church candles and thought about the surreal connection between images and memory. The peaceful and joyous candles flickering there during the Christmas ceremony projected warmth, comfort, and familiarity – even though thy emitted the same kind of fiery energy as the flames caused by the war.

With the long hours of daylight in the Alaska summers, the gardens served up a cornucopia of amazing and extra-large produce.

With you as an inspiration, a painter will create his best painting, a writer will write his best literature and a poet will create his best poetry.

With you I feel like I'm already good enough; I only have to believe it. I can't lose you again.” He needed to make the confession because he was realising that Lachlan meant as much to him now as he always had. “I know.” Lachlan smiled at him and stopped in their walk to draw him into his arms. Konnor went willingly, clinging onto him. This was exactly how they had said goodbye. It felt like the perfect way to make a promise to always be friends again. “I love you, Konnor,” Lachlan whispered in his ear. “I love you too. If I ever try to hurt you again, lock me up, shoot me, do whatever you have to do…but don't send me away,” he begged him never to separate them again.

With the world securely in order, Dain was able to devote the leisurely bath time to editing his mental dictionary. He removed his wife from the general category labeled "Females" and gave her a section of her own. He made a note that she didn't find him revolting, and proposed several explanations: (a) bad eyesight and faulty hearing, (b)a defect in a portion of her otherwise sound intellect, (c) an inherited Trent eccentricity, or (d) an act of God. Since the Almighty had not done him a single act of kindness in at least twenty-five years, Dain thought it was about bloody time, but he thanked his Heavenly Father all the same, and promised to be as good as he was capable of being.

With you I could live, without you I was already dead.

Wolf took Scarlet’s hands into his, as tenderly as he would pick up an injured butterfly, and slid the band onto her finger. His voice was rough and wavering as he recited—“I, Ze’ev Kesley, do hereby claim you, Scarlet Benoit, as my wife and my Alpha. Forevermore, you will be my mate, my star, my beginning of everything.” He smiled down at her, his eyes swimming with emotion. Scarlet returned the look, and though Wolf’s expression teetered between proud and bashful, Scarlet’s face contained nothing but joy. “You are the one. You have always been, and you will always be, the only one. Scarlet took the second ring—a significantly larger version of the same unadorned band—and pressed it onto Wolf’s finger. “I, Scarlet Benoit, do hereby claim you, Ze’ev Kesley, as my husband and my Alpha. Forevermore, you will be my mate, my star, my beginning of everything. You are the one. You have always been, and you will always be, the only one.” Wolf folded his hands around hers. From where she sat, Cinder could see that he was shaking. Kai grinned. “By the power given to me by the people of Earth, under the laws of the Earthen Union and as witnessed by those gathered here today, I do now pronounce you husband and wife.” He spread his hands in invitation. “You may kiss your—” Wolf wrapped his arms around Scarlet’s waist, lifting her off the floor, and kissed her before Kai could finish. Or maybe she kissed him. It seemed mutual, as her hands wound through his disheveled hair. The room exploded with cheers, everyone launching to their feet to congratulate the still-kissing couple. Scarlet had lost one of her red shoes. “I’ll get the champagne,” said Thorne, heading toward the kitchen. “Those two are going to be thirsty when they finally come up for air.

Wolves mated for life. Where was he? Where was the echo to her howl, her mate? Was there no other lone wolf, searching the hills for her?

Women are attracted to bad boys not because they want to fall in love… we just want to ride on the backs of their motor bikes.

Women don’t place as much value on what can be seen with the eyes as men do—it fades, you see, and the man who is an attractive fool at twenty becomes simply a fool by fifty.

Women enjoy sex as much as men...if they were totally satisfied in sexual encounters, they would welcome them.

Women are fundamentally incapable of loving a man in the way that a man expects to be loved by a woman.

Women do not lie, my lord Dain," came a faintly accented voice from the door. "It merely seems so because they exist in another reality.

Women don't want to be seduced. They want to be seen and listened to. You can't do either of those things if you're thinking up strategies on how to win her over.

Women, in general, are less visually aroused than men, a trait that has nearly cut the market for pornography in half.

Women who have learned how to always be in touch with their sensuality can't help but attract at the highest vibrational level than those who have not. In fact, that becomes their default setting.

Women formed from black smoke come to me at night and they scream for me to not cut their throats or twist those tiny necks. They beg and cry. Then right at the moment when I can't take anymore, I rush up to them, slashing at the smoke with my hands. Do they go away? Never. They turn into familiar faces.

Women problems, huh?” Mac asked. “She’s more than a problem.” Adrian massaged his temples. “She’s…a virus, a lethal one. You know, there’s a rock song about her.” He sipped his whiskey and enjoyed the burning sensation as it trickled down his throat. “It’s called Poison.

Women's fiction is just a marketing category, designed to appeal more to women than to men. But there are stories in that category that any human being would like.

Women, the most beautiful things in the world,” answers the model. As if it’s the only thing worth painting, as if everyone should aspire to it. Normally coming from a guy that answer would sound so incredibly skeezy—a greasy, obvious pick-up line. But something about this guy’s earnest tone tells me he means it." -from Model Position by Kitsy Clare

Women who hate the notion of being desirable to their men, in essence, deprive themselves of the greatest opportunity to experience the beauty and richness of the world of romance. Of course, it also depends on the caliber of the men they pick. If you choose a man who is sensually in the dark, chances are he may not bring much to the table in terms of romance.

Women will be the death of you.” Julio entered and sat down. “That's why I don't mess with them. They make men weak.” “You don't mess with them because you're gay.

Women feel the most secure when they see true love for themselves in their partner’s eyes. And for them, security equals happiness.

Women need to assert their rights in the bedroom too - many women have done so in the workplace; many women have done so in house chores and parenting, but women's rights are sorely lacking in the bedroom.

Women who have learned how to always be in touch with their sensuality can't help but attract at the highest vibrational level than those who have not. In fact, that becomes their "new" default setting.

Women have got it all wrong now. They give it up too soon, and the men don't respect them. And before you tell me I don't have a clue, let me tell you something. By the time I let my future husbands climb into my bed, I'd made them work for it. And you know what? By the time they left it the next morning, they were begging for me to marry them.

Women who have learned how to always be in touch with their sensuality can't help but attract at the highest vibrational level than those who have not. In fact, that becomes their default setting. They somehow perfectly represent the 'early bird catches the fattest worm' adage.

Women! Whether human or divine, what man can ever truly understand them?

Women who have learned how to always be in touch with their sensuality can't help but attract at the highest vibrational level than those who have not. In fact, that becomes their default setting. They are a perfect representation of the "early bird catches the fattest worm" adage.