Best 9447 quotes in «romance quotes» category

Shirley stood there having her face nearly the same color as the scarlet receiver of the Smiths’ phone she was holding in her shivering hand and… just sighed! She was not singing the song they just prepared; she even didn’t read any rhymes… she couldn’t say any word. Thrown the receiver back to the phone base, such as it was a poisonous snake but not a simple piece of plastic, she landed onto the sofa where Emily was sitting, also not being able to say anything.

Shit, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I yelped. Harry was rubbing his jaw. "What was that?" My keys were in my fingers, my back was to him. I fumbled with the lock. I had to get out of here. Oh my God, I'd tried to kiss him and ended up headbutting him. Like a freaking.. WWE wrestler. "I don't know what happend. I'm sorry. I have to go. Thanks for... everything...sorry." The door opend. I couldn't get through it quickly enough. What was wrong with me? Seriously, what was I doing? I HEADBUTTED HIM.

Shouldering the duffel bag with the Marine Corps bulldog, Old Man knocked Jan's photo off the bed table. He turned to stone staring down at the photo. His face then splintered into hurt. Tears seeped into his eyes. He grappled for the nearest bedpost and slumped forward on extended arms. His shoulders jerked and head sagged a little while his heart broke. Old Man cried the mute cry of men of his generation.

Shit happens. But so does magic." ~ Celia Wird, SEALED WITH A CURSE: A Weird Girls Novel

Shithead Boss Man, eh? You know, Dylan, I really lucked out in the assistant department. The other partners in the firm have ended up with someone awful, who soothes them, is at their beck and call and agrees with them all the time. I got one who is sarcastic, argumentative, scruffy, rarely where he should be, and calls me Shithead Boss Man rather than Sir.” Jude laughs at him, before reaching out and swiping one of the prawns from my carton of sweet and sour. “He’d call you Sir if you spanked him.

Shock? More like shellshock at this point. Blondie knew I was gay, yet he was a Company Exec or else he wouldn’t be here. I was his butt boy in the worst possible way. When I squinted at him, he gave nothing up. Neither did I. I had shit on this newly minted man too. Double fucking jeopardy, jackass.

Should I have a doughnut or my disgusting cardboard?” asked Gwynn, as she drew up languidly before me at a study table in a bookstore on State Street, raising a puffed rice cake in the air. My eyes narrowed attentively at her face, but as I hesitated, she announced eagerly, “Disgusting cardboard it is!

Should I talk to her friends?’ he asked softly, because he had to say something to take his mind away from the feel of her body against his and the rising desire to kiss her. ‘No, don’t,’ she turned her head and her mouth was suddenly tantalisingly close, lips moist and inviting. ‘Jax,’ he murmured. He smoothed hair from her brow. Her eyes met his, wide and surprised. She straightened, moved and his hand slipped from her shoulders. Mistake. Don’t make it again. She didn’t want more than comfort from him. Friends was as far they would go.

Shouting didn't help. Kathy keyed her landing skids down and strangled the thruster grips onto full. A flagman on the ground dove sideways. The fighter whizzed past the man's prostrate body, her skids unfolding only feet above his head. She nearly beheaded three others as she scrambled to decrease power to her belly thrusters and fight spinning into a sideways slide. Suddenly a group of people came into view at the edge of the tarmac. “Oh shit!” She killed her belly thrusters completely. The skids hit the cement like a Boeing 747 with no tires. She slammed back into the seat. Metal screeched against cement. Everything shook like a jackhammer. The big Shimeron slued sideways then slammed her into her harness as it lurched to a halt. Every part of her including her hands shook. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her tremors enough to power down. “You did it, O’Donnell,” she said as the gyros whined down in a groan of sympathy. She removed her helmet and pushed back her flight suit hood only to have a pile of sopping wet sparkling hair flop out over her face. She swiped it away and released the canopy. A blast of cool ocean air filled the cockpit. Carefully, she peered over the side of the cockpit. Bodies lay strewn about on the ground. A few prostrate forms moved. Kathy sank down into the seat with a grimace. Great, you just killed your welcoming committee, you twit.

Show me a man that gets rich by being a politician, and I'll show you a crook.

Shut up…let me tell you, LET ME. Every time I look at your face or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough...I don’t even think about women anymore. I think about you.

—Si después de conocer la historia siente que vale la pena escribir sobre ello puede hacerlo —le dije suspirando. —¿Cómo? Pero el documento de confidencialidad que me hizo firmar… —Me contacté con Jeremy Hyde porque quiero que escriba sobre esto, obviamente omitiendo los nombres verdaderos y dejando que su libre albedrío decida qué será real y qué ficción en su historia total o parcial. —¿Me está ofreciendo escribir una historia y publicarla al mundo? —Le ofrezco a Jeremy la posibilidad de escribir sobre lo que voy a decirle si encuentra en mi relato algo de interés y si no, le pido a Jeremy que olvide todo después y haga de cuenta que este encuentro nunca se llegó a suscitar. Como también le pido a Ian que se abstenga de publicar algo de esto en su diario si a Jeremy no le importa. Jeremy puede sacar provecho, Ian no. —Ivonne usted me deja sin habla. —Un efecto femenino, ¿no le parece? —intenté sonreír. —Definitivamente —el calor de su mano envolvía la mía.

Sierra couldn’t afford complications, not in her position, but the way he flirted with her and teased had amped her touch hunger to a deafening roar.

Sienna Rivers, ex-nerd, undisputed reigning chess champion of the class of 09 and the proverbial all round wise-ass degenerate pain in your backside.

Shuffled footsteps caught her attention. "Hey," Owen said. She took in the sight of him, dressed in a new borrowed outfit - a long sleeved navy T-shirt and a pair of khakis that had been too long for John. The shirt highlighted the difference in his eyes. Well, okay, there was the reason she hadn't been thinking about the real world.

Shut up. You Matter. That's it.

Shylah's soft laughter slid into Draden's mind. Warm like honey, filling him up when he hadn't known he was empty.

Shug Avery sat up in bed a little today. I wash and comb out her hair. She got the nottiest, shortest, kinkiest hair I ever saw, and I loves every strand of it.

Shylah was like Nonny. She would stand with her man, carving out a home and fighting by his side when necessary in the worst of circumstances.

Shunting closer, I snuggle into his chest, soaking up his fresh woodsy scent. His arms encircle me and pull me close. “You always smell like home,” I whisper under my breath. Smooth, soft fingers tilt my chin upward, and I’m startled when my face meets his. Tears glisten in his eyes as he looks at me adoringly. Pressing his forehead to mine, he kisses me sweetly, his lips making brisk tantalizing sweeps across my mouth. “My heart is your home,” he whispers, his voice breathless. “It always will be.

Shy, I can’t be fixed. We won’t ride off into the sunset. There will be no happy ending.

Silently he traces out a new constellation, one only he knows. One with Noemi at the very heart.

Silver and gold pale into insignificance if you flatter me with blue nights, romance me with pink lips and woo me with purple prose...

Si le sexe était une arme de négociation, Tristan serait certainement un diplomate hors pair.

Simon,” I say, and swallow again, “you’re being idiotic.” “Because I like this better than fighting?” “There is no ‘this’!” I protest. “You slept in my arms,” he says. “Fitfully.

Simon laughed heartily. “I’m afraid the rest of us have to find talents to get our women into bed. Of course once they’re there, I have other talents that keep them right where they are.” “Handcuffs hardly count,” Christian said offhandedly. “If you mean the ladies cuffing me to the bed so they can explore Hunt Island,” he said, rubbing his chest, “…then point taken. These hands are capable of making any female climax by the mere brush of a pinky across her bare breast.” “I must have gone to the wrong island,” I said with a private laugh.

Simon, mark well my words! Wives are the devil ­ and I know!' `In truth,' Alan sighed, `I am the only wise one amongst us all.' `Art a silly lad!' Fulk rumbled, and cast him an affectionate though fiery glance. `Alan speaks sooth for once,' Simon said, and placed his finger on Margaret's indignant lips. He had her in his arms again, and like a needle to the magnet, Jeanne had drawn near to her Geoffrey. `For Alan throughout hath known that needs must I fall, and at Margot's feet.' `Ah, and he knew that I loved thee, even before I knew it myself,' Margaret cried. `Methinks he hath worked very quietly to bring about our happiness. And yet he will not seek his own.' `I observe thy folly,' he said, `and know mine own wisdom. That is happiness.' Jeanne looked at Geoffrey, and a smile passed between them, of boundless conceit. Margaret stole her hand into Simon's, smiling also. Not one of them answered Alan, and he laughed, leaning on his father's shoulder, and surveying his two friends with soft, satisfied eyes. `Are my sage words beneath contempt?' he asked. `Ay,' Simon answered simply, and looked down into Margaret's face for a long moment. A deep breath he drew, and glanced again at Alan. `Beneath contempt,' said Simon the Coldheart.

Simon gave her a startled look. 'I don't believe I have ever been condescended to by a woman before.' She shrugged. 'It was probably past time.

Simon, she'd learned, was a man who studied people. He learned their weaknesses as a way of protecting himself.

Since he didn’t seem to understand the situation, I felt it my duty to enlighten him. “Wrong. You started this stupid rumor and half the school probably believes it’s true. Now you have to stick around and pretend to be my boyfriend to convince everyone I don’t have sex with random guys. Not to mention the fact that if you’d kept your mouth shut about getting laid, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” He raised a brow. “So you’re my punishment?

... since I was still, and must for long remain, in that period of life when one has not yet separated the fact of this sensual pleasure from the various women in whose company one has tasted it, when one has not reduced it to a general idea which makes one regard them thenceforward as the variable instruments of a pleasure that is always the same. Indeed, that pleasure does not exist, isolated and formulated in the consciousness, as the ultimate object with which one seeks a woman's company, or as the cause of the uneasiness which, in anticipation, one then feels. Hardly even does one think of oneself, but only how to escape from oneself.

Since no one's ever fallen in love with me, I think now's a good time. I can go out knowing someone thought I was worth that.

Singers, actors or artists who touch on sorrow are trying to give comfort to aggrieved souls by giving some meaning to their sorrows.

Sin. Repent. Repeat.

Si no reclamas a alguien, no pueden rechazarte, no pueden abandonarte, no pueden romperte el maldito corazón.

—Sí, pero solo eso. Cada caricia, cada beso, cada momento compartido por los dos, preciosa…, nada de eso fue fingido. No quería fingir contigo. Quería que cada experiencia contigo, cada momento, fuese absolutamente real. Eres la primera persona a la que he dejado entrar en mí, la primera que ha visto quién soy yo de verdad entre tanta mentira. —Bajó el volumen de su voz al mínimo—: Eres la primera persona a la que he amado en toda mi vida, Alayna. Y sé que serás la última.

Sir, don’t make a bigger fool out of yourself because I promise you, if my car is not here when I leave service today . . . just pray for rapture.

Sir Mark Turner," he said. "I speak with the tongues of a thousand angels. Butterflies follow me wherever I go. Birds sing when I take a breath.

Si sentiva diversa da tutti, ma aveva ora in mano la prova tangibile di non essere l’unica creatura della terra a essere da meno al resto del mondo. Questa era una scoperta che apriva nuovi orizzonti. Doveva celare le conoscenze appena acquisite e scovare nuove notizie su quello che le accadeva intorno. Non voleva più essere una marionetta, non più soggiogata e imbarazzata dalla sua diversità. Quel libro le stava rivelando come non fosse la povera ra-gazzina deforme e incapace che aveva sempre creduto. Tra quelle pagine c’era una cosa che non aveva trovato e che fa-ceva sembrare tutti gli altri dei diversi. In quelle pagine non si parlava affatto di come difendersi dalla luce solare e non vi era descritto che dal suo calore ci si doveva nascondere nelle case. Non era il dono mortale di cui tanto aveva sentito parla-re. Da quello che c’era scritto si rischiava solo una lieve scot-tatura se la durata dell’esposizione era troppo prolungata, non la fine terrificante da lei sempre pensata, nulla di ciò di cui aveva tanto sentito parlare.

Sit down,” she ordered, nodding toward her bed. He cast it an uncertain look. “I can’t. I’ll stain the covers.” She stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?” He sported deep wounds that bled profusely and he was concerned about staining her bedding? “Perhaps if I cleaned up a wee bit—” “Sit your ass down,” she ordered, pointing at the queen-sized bed. Eyebrows flying up, he sat so swiftly she almost laughed.

Slamming the door as hard as you could was practically a family tradition in our house.

Sitting down on the stairs, Cheyenne watched Behr through the slats in the railing. She liked what she saw. Covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, muscles swollen from what was clearly a grueling workout, Behr’s toned physique was a serious distraction from her worries, making her content to just sit and watch. Each thump of his fist into the bag resonated in her bones. Each kick of his leg thundered in her ears. Every move seemed to be in time with the harsh sounds of the music pumping through the room, until he was a frenzy of movement. It was frighteningly beautiful. Standing, Cheyenne called out to him. “Behr? Are you hungry?” She was feeling a little peckish herself, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Between a combination of brutal punches, knee jabs and the music, Behr didn’t hear a word she said. So she decided to go to him. Winding her way through equipment and stepping over the discarded sweaty T-shirt, Cheyenne approached him. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, she tapped him on the shoulder during a brief pause. Big mistake. Huge.

Skinny-dipping is like Paris. It's always a good idea.

Six nervous wives at the sink, each quiet as a queen on a chessboard.

Sit down." He said It came out angrily. The girl turned him like she couldn't tell weather he was another jerk or what. "Jesus-Fuck," Park said softly, nodding to the space next to him, "just sit down." The girl sat down. She didn't say anything- thank God, she didn't thank him- and she left six inches of space on the seat between them.

Si umettò le labbra improvisamente emozionata. Poteva essere suo per sempre. Poteva davvero vivere il suo sentimento per lui. Era solo lei che lo impediva. L'unico ostacolo al loro amore era lei. E quella visione le schiarì la mente, aprendo un varco tra tutte le sue contraddizioni.

Six years of dreams would end in eternal love, or an eternity of loss.

Slowly rising from the fire, she went down to the shore, and not wanting to frighten him off again, she squatted on a rock above the water, looking down at him where he sat on the wet sand with his long blue-green tail disappearing into the lapping waves. He shyly offered the bag up to her, which had been woven of seaweed, and she took it with a whispered thanks and opened it, staring in delight and surprise at the sheer amount of oysters that were inside. The siren made a trilling noise and whispered, “I-I hope it is well enough. I do not know what land women eat.

Slowly, but very deliberately, the brooding edifice of seduction, creaking and incongruous, came into being, a vast Heath Robinson mechanism, dually controlled by them and lumbering gloomily down vistas of triteness. With a sort of heavy-fisted dexterity the mutually adapted emotions of each of them became synchronised, until the unavoidable anti-climax was at hand. Later they dined at a restaurant quite near the flat.

Sleep, Maya," he murmured softly. "Sleep, my love, and I promise that I will come looking for you.