Best 9447 quotes in «romance quotes» category

I remain steady in my belief that well-written literary fiction doesn’t have to be high-brow; it has to embrace ideas about destiny in a storyline that holds the readers’ attention. From his classic presentation at the 200th anniversary writers’ conference of North American Review, the nation’s oldest literary magazine, where he poked fun at his own early novels for their obscurity, implying clarity in the digital age equals salvation. Then he toyed with the digital age itself: Some nut will find a way to blow up the electric grid. All these electronic gadgets that rely on electricity will go dark. The batteries will run down. We’re talking Cormac McCarthy darkness, black on black . . . except for one distant flicker of light. It’s on a beach probably Australia. Survivors will make their way through the dark and find the light from a single candle. Next to the candle will be a lad with a note book scribbling away with the last pencil on earth. He’s writing about what happened. He hopes someone will read what he writes. That’s what writers do. They hope.

I remember being little and wondering if I smoothed this line away would I be able to see inside you, like it was a door or some kind of opening to your insides. Dumb, huh?” “Sweet,” he said, softly. “Little girl sweet. Never dumb.” Her eyes traveled up to his and locked there. “When I got older I wondered what it would be like to kiss it.

I remembered Daemon's feather soft kisses on my cheek, and I remembered the clouds parting and the sun shining on a cold February day in Ireland. And as my baby girl was laid on my chest and my husband held my hand, I saw my best friend Kat walk into the sun kissed part in the clouds, hand in hand, along with the last regrets of my past.

I remember every good thing about you. Every sweet and perfect thing. And nothing else.” He touched her chin, tipped it up to look into her wet brown eyes. Even smudged, they were gorgeous. The dawning light in them filled his heart, and healed it. “Nothing else.

I remember Your wonder Us two, lying on the sky You were explaining me the world Its weighs, And I said: "I will write for what is alive. " "I come from emptiness, not from nothingness. " And I kissed you without understanding Your sun came to surprise me And he loved me to hunt me down (And I wanted to ravage you).

I remember- The world was in your embrace I was only your little girl It was easy, it was simple I was sleeping in the shade Of your eyelashes.

I, Roman Irvine, am in love with April McIntyre. I love her, even though she’s moody, spoiled, and slightly high maintenance. I love her, even though she refuses to acknowledge how kind-hearted and selfless than she is. I love her, and she’s the only girl that I could ever want in my life.

I rolled on my side and propped myself on my elbow. “I told you how that happened. I just got the instructions mixed up. This is Approach No. 2, known as the waiting game. You want me to explain how it works? You take these two citizens, A and B, we’ll call ‘em—“ She laughed, and picked up the charcoal stick again. “All right. I’ve been warned. But didn’t your instruction book warn you?” “About what?” I asked. “That your Approach No. 2, as you call it, won’t work after it’s been explained.” “Killjoy. Now I’ve got to buy a new manual.

Ironically, just when she needed to get as much sleep as possible to prepare her for the next few days, her excited anticipation kept her awake long into the night.

I resented you for inserting yourself so fully into my life, and then one day I realized I couldn't imagine my life without you...

I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.

I rock in his arms under the stars and the blanket of night air, unwilling or unable to tear myself away.

I rolled my eyes. To Jack I said, "Don't mind him, he's just mad no one likes him." Jonas clenched his jaw.

I romanticized him until he was the perfect being. A soul so beautiful, but so immensely evil too.

I rub my hand down my face, frustrated. This girl in front of me tests my patience like hell. When she ran to me after her dad kicked her out, I thought she still had feelings for me. She needed a place to stay, and I needed her. I offered her a room, thinking if she was around me every day, she would remember she loves me. I was dead wrong. Somewhere along the way, we switched roles, I became the one who so desperately needed her and she became cold and closed off. She isn’t my savior; she’s my punishment.

Isaac dared not move and she did not stir either, both staring up at the canopy above. If he reached over, if he –no, no. It was better to keep a small shield between them, to preserve the little progress they had made in their standoffish, untested relationship, two strangers forced together under impossible circumstances. The last thing he needed was to push her away, to frighten her, to be the brute she’d taken him for. It had been three weeks since they’d been in this very same position and so much had changed and yet so little. A ridiculous, naïve hope drifted into his head before he found sleep: perhaps one day, a long time from now, they would be friends. He would settle for that, if he could have nothing more. Even though he wanted everything.

I sacrifice my life to make you love me.

Isaiah grabs my hand and leads me away from the police...My heart stutters. He's holding my hand. A guy is holding my hand. Touching it. Like his fingers entwined with mine. I've never held a guy's hand before and it feels good. So good. Warm. Strong. Awesome. And it would only be a million times better if the guy holding my hand liked me.

I said, somewhat confused, “What’s the problem?” [Kristy] rolled her eyes. Beside her, Monica said, “Donneven.” “Kristy.” Delia shook her head. “This isn’t the time or the place, okay?” “The time or the place for what?” Caroline asked. “There is never,” Kristy said adamantly, “a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.” “Throbbing?” my mother said, leaning forward and looking at me. “Who’s throbbing?” “Macy and Wes,” Kristy told her. “We are not,” I said indignantly. “Kristy,” Delia said helplessly. “Please God I’m begging you, not now.” “Wait a second, wait a second.” Caroline held her hands up. “Kristy. Explain.” “Yes, Kristy,” my mother said, but she was looking at me. Not really mad as much as confused. Join the club, I thought. “Explain.” Bert said, “This ought to be good.” Kristy ignored him, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Wes wants to be with Macy. And Macy, whether she’ll admit it or not, wants to be with Wes. And yet they’re not together, which is not only unjust, but really, when you think about it, tragical.” “That’s not a word,” Bert pointed out. “It is now,” she said. “How else can you explain a situation where Wes, a truly extraordinary boy, would be sent packing in favor of some brainiac loser…” “Why,” I said, feeling embarrassed, “do we have to keep talking about this?” “Because it’s tragical!” Kristy said….”I’ll tell you what it is. It’s wrong. You should be with Wes, Macy. The whole time you guys were hanging out, talking about how you were both with other people, it was so obvious to everyone. It was even obvious to Wes. You were the only one who couldn’t see it, just like you can’t see it now.” “Mmm-hmm,” Monica said aloud.

I said that it would be easy to fall in love with you,” he repeated. “But would it be wise?” He cocked his head to one side and their eyes locked in the short space between them. Slowly his chin went up and down in a nod. “I believe it might be the wisest thing I could do in this lifetime.” “Then you have my permission.

I said you were beautiful. I slept in your bed!

I saw it in his eyes, first—the beginning of the end, the beginning of things to come. The blackest night, they cut into me, paralyzing my trembling body. Not even the gods could sense my fear now, for the celebration of the monsters who’d claimed me drowned out all perception of pain. It was all-powerful, all-knowing, the definition of infinite, an overwhelming possession that consumed every inch of my being.

I said alone!” He nodded in agreement. “Aye, you usually say that, and I still stay. It’s our way.

I said nothing in my texts. You came up with your own conclusions and you were mad thinking about me being with someone else…’’ “Stop,’’ he said, his jaw tightening. “Touching another man…’’ “Stop it.’’ “Sleeping…’’ He ran to me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me once, not hard, but enough to make me stop. “Quit it,’’ he whispered, his voice deep and dark.

Isabelle and Amory were distinctly not innocent, nor were they particularly brazen. Moreover, amateur standing had very little value in the game they were playing, a game that would presumably be her principal study for years to come. She had begun as he had, with good looks and an excitable temperament, and the rest was the result of accessible popular novels and dressing-room conversation culled from a slightly older set. Isabelle had walked with an artificial gait at nine and a half, and when her eyes, wide and starry, proclaimed the ingenue most. Amory was proportionately less deceived. He waited for the mask to drop off, but at the same time he did not question her right to wear it. She, on her part, was not impressed by his studied air of blasé sophistication. She had lived in a larger city and had slightly an advantage in range. But she accepted his pose--it was one of the dozen little conventions of this kind of affair. He was aware that he was getting this particular favor now because she had been coached; he knew that he stood for merely the best game in sight, and that he would have to improve his opportunity before he lost his advantage. So they proceeded with an infinite guile that would have horrified her parents.

I said I love you about a million times. Maybe not the actual words, but in every other way.

Is a partially unfulfilling but stable marriage a romantic failure or a post-romantic ideal? When you stay, maybe you have realistic expectations or maybe you're just rationalizing mediocrity; when you leave, maybe you're courageous or maybe you're just selfishly deluded. In the gloaming of the romantic age, we've valorized marital mediocrity, and called it realism; we've vilified marital ambition, and called it selfish. Consequently, at a time when marriage could be anything, we very often expect it to be less.

I saw the last piece of innocence unfurl inside of her. -Nick Plato (from the story Platonick)

I see specks of the Universe in your eyes. A body of stardust that gives me a high. And when we make love the stars shine brighter than usual. When we lie there holding each other, I see love making us.

I saw under the sun the place of judgement, …that wickedness was there; And the place of righteousness, that iniquity was there. …I said in mine heart, 'Who shall judge the righteous and the wicked:' for there is a time for every purpose and for every work.

I see an evening sky strewn with diamonds and glass.

I saw us in some lost future, myself with a long beard, and her with silver streaks entwined in her auburn hair. My son would already be proud of the strength of his own son.

I saw wild, dangerous beauty. I saw devotion. I saw you.

I see such radiant beauty in you that you have become my muse, the sun to my planet.

I see the way he looks at you when you're not aware of his gaze. I see the way you care for him. And so when you think he wants you gone, it is not that. He is simply afraid to lose you.

I scold the worries away. As Ma likes to say, you cannot control the wind, but you can control your sails.

I see - Your bare skin Shining the sun of spring Your neck refreshed By an indolent breeze Your tangled hair Our lips shared I see - The ultimate landscape of your beauty.

I shall crave for love at the bottom of the abyss, until I find you... (fragment from "Awaiting your arrival", chapter Hope)

I shall be up before you are awake; I shall be afield before you are up; and I shall have breakfasted before you are afield. In short, I shall astonish you all.

I shook my head. "You know I ain't never going to be good enough for her. She can't fall in love with me, you know as well as I do that nothing good is going to come of her staying with me." "Then why do you stay with her? Why, if you seem to think that this is a bad idea, do you stay with her?" I raked my fingers through my hair. "I don't know! Maybe I'm stupid? A glutton for punishment." Jackson pointed his beer at me. "Or maybe you love her too and that scares the shit out of you.

I sense a deep despair inside this boy that must be hard to live with.

I shan't mind if you don't," he agreed. "But I'll not let you go, Prudence. Til not pester you, but know this: I will wait until you choose to listen to your heart." "Pshaw." It was a feeble effort. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Humbug! How can you presume to know my heart?" He smiled a slow, devastating smile. "You are my heart." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "And our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things. And you know it.

“She doesn’t seem to like me very much. Why is she here?” I wondered about the testing Uncle Sean spoke of, but I was more concerned with the lethal blonde who seemed to have taken an instant dislike to me.

I shifted in my seat, curious about the tension that idea caused in my body. Every time I thought of a blindfolded restrained man exploring my body I pressed my thighs together seeking relief. I felt I should have been more concerned about losing my ability to speak from the ball gag, but instead it was a relief. I was terrible at talking to people, this eliminated awkward small talk, and shifted the dynamic of the meeting in a way I didn’t quite understand.

I should have seen his weaknesses and only given him a section of myself but I loved him to my core, no matter who he was. There were no hidden places in my heart that would not welcome him or any sacred ground inside my being that he could not walk upon.

I shouldn't have even been obsessing about it anyway, he probably had a girlfriend. Like a supermodel or playboy bunny or something, someone equivalent to his level of sexiness. Not someone normal like me.

Is it love, or is it attachment? Do you want to love her, or do you want to control her?

I should have trusted you…the woman I fell in love with.

I should move away from his touch. But he’s a constant storm in my life, clouding my head, ensuring I make bad decisions. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he knows we’re not good for each other, but there’s something about us that makes us fight back harder, thinking we can overcome it.

I shuddered at the thought of what I would do for her if she asked—kill, steal, desecrate the holy god Ambi, destroy cities and masses of people just at her command.