Best 9447 quotes in «romance quotes» category

There’s a bookcase lining an entire wall. By the window there’s an armchair and another lamp, with a stack of books illuminated beneath it. Even more books on the coffee table. I’m intensely relieved by this. What would I have done if he turned out to be a beautiful illiterate?

There's a certain term - existential loneliness- which describes the loneliness that you can feel no matter how many people you are with, no matter how close you are to them or how much they love you; when you understand that you are completely alone in this world.

There's always a glamour of pain even in pleasure.

There’s a Lady Amelia Pembroke here to see you, my lord. She was most insistent.” Benedict glanced up from his desk. “I trust you informed her that I was not receiving, and refused to let her in?” “Of course.” The butler hesitated before continuing, “She said she would simply wait until you are receiving.” Benedict put down his pen. “Wait where, pray?” “Upon the front step, my lord. I’m afraid the lady brought... the lady brought... a book. She cannot be budged.

There's always that one person in our life we are saving the last dance for.

There’s a part of me that recognizes him on a cellular level, a part that seeks his comfort and solace, that feels more than comfortable in his arms. And when he stares at me with that deep penetrating gaze of his, my body reacts in all the right, and wrong, ways.

There's a saying, cited in popular song, that if you love someone you must set them free. Well, that's just nonsense. If you love someone, you bind them to you with heavy metal chains.

There's always a price.

There’s always time for arguin’ when you’re a Fuentes.

There’s a reason why relationships don’t work out. It’s usually better to take a few steps back if you have any doubts before it gets complicated and you find yourself in a tangled web, not of your doing, but somehow you end up paying the price.

There's a kind of purity to a relationship unencumbered by convention, a sense of simplicity and freedom.

There's great power in not fearing solitude. You don't allow yourself to be treated like crap because you're afraid of the alternative.

There should always be another kiss And another after that

There's a word for an author who doesn't give up... published.

There's magic in recognizing a kindred spirit, and an even greater power in letting yourself love them. When it scares you, let it - that's your ego letting go.

There’s no guessing when it comes to being in love, there’s just knowing.

There's no right or wrong way. There's only the truth.

There’s no other kind of happiness except the one you think you don’t need.

There's no time to muck about with nature and romance. Start thinking like that and you'll be old before your time.

There's nothing sweet about me, love," he said.

There’s only so much a man can survive and as fucking weak as it sounds, I reached my limits when Skye disappeared. —Duke

There's only one of him, she thought, and he's right here. He knows I'll like a song before I've heard it. He laughs before I even get to the punch line. There's a place on his chest, just below his throat, that makes me want to let him open doors for me. There's only one of him.

There’s something different about him, and I don’t have to think hard to see it. Something about the way he takes over a room, the way he looks at me, like he has already identified and can disarm every one of my defense mechanisms with no effort, like he sees through them to the disaster lying beneath. And he wants it.

There’s something I wish I could comprehend about animals: if they can’t form any speeches, then how does their thinking process work?

The rest of my life isn't that long, so I don't know how big a compliment it is. One day? Two?" She rubbed her chin along his chest. "Stay humble, my man.

There’s this fancy restaurant nearby with a nice view of the water. The Alchemist and Barrister, they call it. I’ve always thought the place looked nice. Since I don’t eat regular food or go on dates, I’v never been there. I’d like to make an exception and take you there on Saturday night. That is, if you’d like.

The rest of the morning would consist of checking on a pothole in the parking lot of the village clinic and writing up a schedule for the community centre that might finally settle the ongoing feud between the local quilting group and the bridge club. It was good to be queen.

There's something about first love...it's untouchable to those who played no part in it. But it's the measure of all that follows.

There's something to say about inspiration - when it comes into your life...the feeling is insatiable.

The rest of the short walk was silent. It was that loud sort of silence where the absence is painful, when there’s so much to say, but nothing is said.

There, too, she would sit for hours gazing seawards. No tiniest speck of sail that crossed the waters could escape her watchful eyes, and as she watched she dreamed that some day one of these distant sails should bear down towards her, and one should come, in whose hand she would lay her own, and they two would flee to the far East. But as the changeless years went by and brought him not, the girl grew sullen, and a sense of wrong possessed her, for the older she grew, the clearer became her consciousness of a world beyond her, and the greater her longing to seek it. ("The Serpent's Head")

There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection.

There was a moment of hesitation, and then her mouth opened against his, and her tongue slid into his mouth, and he was, under the strange stars, utterly, irrevocably lost.

The return journey was nothing like the arrival. Bea couldn’t wait to get out of the car. She remembered feeling like this before, with Brandon, on several occasions. It was an excruciating need to escape the confinement of being in too close a proximity to passive-aggressive behaviour. She hated conflict, after a row, it would take her hours, perhaps days to become fully relaxed and herself again. She became anxious, not entirely brought on by his coldness, but by old memories, and the way her body would instinctively react to them. It wasn’t a feeling that she wanted to experience with someone new, of whom she’d told his sister only a short time ago that she was falling in love with.

There was an exciting atmosphere about the place that uplifted her. It was as if she could actually feel the accelerated steady pulse of the town's heart beating in time with her own.

There was an image in my mind—an expectation of what it would be like when I finally gave myself fully to a man. It wasn’t like this. It was always at night with candles flickering lazily, music filling the air with a sexy melody, and maybe a bubble bath. But no. It was infinitely better, and there was no froo froo, stereotypical scene that played out. It was incredible. Brilliant. Amazing. Indescribable, really. Like all the planets in the galaxy aligned for a perfect moment in time. As if this was the beginning of time. From now until the rest of eternity, everything finally had meaning.

There's warm skin. A strong body that embraces you. Breaths that escape his gasping mouth. But... we're calling out another's name in our hearts. With our eyes closed, that person's image surfaces in our minds. It was a sweet, gentle, yet cruel night.

THERE WAS ALWAYS a boy in your life that common sense and the prayers of parents told you to stay away from: fast talker, fast car, and fast hands. He was the boy your father kept a loaded shotgun by the door for and met on the front porch if he ever thought about venturing onto his property…let alone the threshold. He was the tall, dark, mysteriously handsome, and uncharacter-istically quiet one that made you wonder what was going on in his head, and that little voice in your head said it wasn’t always so honorable. He was the boy you broke all of the rules over because bad-boys equaled excitement and the rebel in you liked the ride.

There was always one. Every village seemed to have one young woman who believed her beauty could somehow magically protect her from a monster. Somehow, they would be special enough to tame the Beast. They were always wrong.

There was an infinitesimal pause while he watched her face, as though he half expected her to recognise it, before he went on, 'My friends call me Thorn,' and gave her a smile of such devastating charm that she blinked. Her hand clasped in his, her senses zinging from his touch and that stunning smile, she stared into his dark, handsome face until, realising that she was gawking at him like some overgrown schoolgirl, she withdrew her hand and asked quickly, 'What do your enemies call you?

There was a sense of comfort being wrapped up in his arms. He was calm in the middle of a terrifying experience. He was a rock she could cling to.

There was a group of fans who wanted autographs, and several women who managed to write their phone numbers on Wade's hand before he pulled free. Sam sent him an arched brow, but he just shrugged. He got numbers written on him a lot; he'd never figured out how to stop that from happening.

There was a spider…

There was just something about a Delta boy. Physically, they were as good as men came. But add the whole warrior, protector, save-the-world attitude. Yeah, it worked for her.

There was nothing as divine and pure as true love.

There was kindness in her and compassion. Two characteristics he didn't have. Or at least, not in abundance. He was the perfect killing machine. He didn't need to feel bad. Once unleashed, set on a course, he followed it until it was done.

There was no denying it; his wicked words thrilled her. Like a feather slowly brushing over her bare skin, they teased and tantalized, awakening every inch of her body.

There was no slow build. No peaceful meander to the summit. It was like sheet lighting stretching across a stormy sky—beautiful and blinding. I leaned forward and seized his mouth with mine.

There was nothing to see in the room, but his brain pulled multiple vivid memories to the forefront of his mind. Entering the house as husband and wife, with Angela holding onto his arm. The night his father died in the downstairs bedroom while he was helpless to do anything but watch from the window; an outsider. Long years of being Angela’s Peter Pan before that boy had ever existed, flitting in and out of her window, and her life. Watching the woman he loved grow old and live a life without him by night, then babysitting her killer by day. It was impossible for him to see Amelia as anything else in those early days. The days before he loved her.

There was a war between them, between love and the right thing to do, and it kept assaulting them, kept keeping them apart.