Best 108 quotes in «tenderness quotes» category

There is nothing as strong as tenderness, And nothing as tender as true strength.

The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.

It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken.

There is an organic affinity between joyousness and tenderness.

There isn't an agony in the world more powerful than tenderness

Weakness indicates dependence, and there is a degree of trust and tenderness also in it.

There's no rage like old lady rage, just as there's no tenderness like old lady tenderness.

Always carry what is beautiful in your heart.

Whereupon, at the tender age of thirteen, I set upon the path of playing nothing but hookers.

All that interior violence and complication to defend themselves from the very tenderness.

And suddenly in the middle of the day a strange feeling grips you. The feeling of missing someone. The warm embrace and the tight hug and the tenderness...

Among leaders who have made the greatest impact through ages, I would consider Muhammad before Jesus Christ.

And then I remember this morning and I wonder if it really happened or if I dreamed it. It was nice. And weird. And tender. I'm not used to tender. It's a fossil, that word. Conditions changed and it died out. Like the woolly mammoth. It just couldn't live in the same world as dick box. Ho dog. Or wiener cousins.

Another tear appeared and then another, trailing silently down her cheeks. This was so much harder than she’d thought it would be. She was usually so articulate, yet at the moment her brain seemed to have turned to mush. He turned his head to kiss the tears from her cheek, and it was as though his act of tenderness finally unleashed the truth that was struggling to emerge.

(A)t least simulated vulnerability is bearable/for those/who cannot/withstand unreasonable tenderness.

As she stooped over him, her tears fell upon his forehead. The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though these marks of pity and compassion had awakened some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had never known; as a strain of gentle music, or the rippling of water in a silent place, or the odour of a flower, or even the mention of a familiar word, will sometimes call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes that never were, in this life; which vanish like a breath; and which some brief memory of a happier existence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened, for no voluntary exertion of the mind can ever recall them.

A touch communicates what can't be said.

Even the memory of cradling her in my arms is pure euphoria. And all that I ask out of life is that it be constant and unending euphoria.

Come back to me. Where have you gone? And why so long? I miss the star below your lip, the constellation on your chest. I miss your ways, how you net butter-flying words and release them for others to enjoy. I miss your tenderness, the sweetness of your breath and the song of your voice. I miss how you worship me. Come back to me once more. Why did you go? And whatever for? The heavens plotted against us. The clouds came and pissed on our lives. The smell of charged particles still lingers in the air. What will become of you and I? Come back to us.

Beauty that steals the heart is often imperfect, suggests grace and kindness, and inspires tenderness more than it incites lust.

Before I could reply, he had picked me up, literally swept me off my feet, and kissed me. And afterwards, when I tried to speak, he silenced me in much the same manner. It was a shock (but not at all distasteful) to be so caught up. Later - when he at last set me down - he handled me more gently. He took of my glasses and told me that he loved me.

Can I touch you?” His lashes closed, resting on the tops of his tanned, sculpted cheeks as his smile grew broad. “You don’t have to ask.” I reached out immediately but paused within inches of contact. He must’ve sensed my hesitation because he reopened his eyes. “What’s wrong?” I swallowed, utterly overwhelmed. “I don’t know where to start.” Mason’s gaze warmed . He wrapped strong warm fingers around my wrist and drew my palm forward, leading me where he wanted my hand to follow. When he set it on the center of his chest, right over his heart and pressed my flesh to his as if fingerprinting my soul to his. I blinked back gratified tears. “Start here. No one’s ever touched me here before.

For Sade, all tenderness is false, a deceit, a trap; all pleasure contains within itself the seeds of atrocities; all beds are minefields.

Everyone smiles in the same language, Happiness knows no frontiers, no age. No difference thar makes us feel apart if a smile can win even a broken heart.

External beauty does not attract me. Rather, I look for the tenderness, sensitivity, and soul of a person!

Eyyia?" said her husband, and Eliane bet Danel heard the mangling of her name as music. "You sound like a marsh frog," she said, moving to stand before his chair. By the flickering light she saw him smile. "Where have you been," she asked. "My dear. I've needed you so much." "Eyyia," he tried again, and stood up. His eyes were black hollows. They would always be hollows. He opened his arms and she moved into the space they made in the world, and laying her head against his chest she permitted herself the almost unimaginable luxury of grief.

Falling in love was easy-when romantic attraction was combined with hungry, unsated desire, they formed a glamorous, glittering bauble as fragile as it was alluring, a bauble that could shatter as soon as it was grasped. Tenderness was a different story. It had staying power and the promise of a future.

Finally, he smiled, and although his smile was bumpy because some of his teeth were jagged and broken, it was a warming, infectious smile that was reflected in his eyes. It made her smile widely in return. She felt as if the room had been lit up. He held out his arms, and she went across the room to him, almost running. She buried her face in his shirt, her nose wrinkling up as the scent of his cologne mixed with the nutty, sourish smell of camphor that filled the room. He put his arms around her, but gently, so that there was space between his forearms and her back, holding her as if she was to fragile to hug properly. Awkwardly, he patted her light, bushy aureole of dark brown hair, repeating: "Good girl. Fine daughter.

First, I don't traipse, and second, Helen's- devil take you, that hurts!" Exhausted, he dropped his head to his chest. Helen regarded him sympathetically, knowing how he hated not being in control. Rhys was always well dressed and in command of himself. His very name connoted success, luxury, and elegance. None of that was consistent with finding himself on the floor, battered, bruised, and forcibly divested of his clothing. "And second?" she prompted gently, bringing him back to his unfinished thought. "You're not ruined," he said gruffly, his head still down. "You're perfect." Helen's heart twisted with painful sweetness. She wanted badly to comfort and cradle him. Instead she had to settle for stroking his black hair very lightly. He pushed his head against the caress, like an affectionate wolf.

He danced the way he made love, with passion and tenderness and spirit, communicating with hands and eyes the most subtle messages, tenderly making up for Lila's awkwardness. In his lashes and his hair, mist clung in tiny diamond drops. She could not take her eyes from him.

Her eyes hide a tenderness that is more sensitive than all the red roses of the world.

How do you wipe away pain? You don’t. You put in tenderness, compassion and joy. You cling to hope and then you offer everything to God. And you wait, with faith you see all things anew – light shines out from darkness, happiness grows through every pain, and all things become indeed so very beautiful in His time.

He turned and pulled her in, placed his hands on the sides of her face and gazed into her eyes, his head moving closer and closer----she still couldn't say anything, couldn't think of anything other than his mouth landing on hers.

If my hand on yours trembles it's because bodies never lie.

how many times has my heart spoken how many times will I listen to my heart!

I breathe in...the silence of my own heart aching with tenderness with memories.. Of home.

I cry now as I write this. So lasting are the scars of the child who never feels worthy of love. So many cycles in my life of having to learn that I am indeed worthy of tenderness.

If I have loved anyone truly it is you. You are the completeness of my incompleteness. You walked into my life and made me fall in love with life. I who was a wanderer in search of true love found the ocean of love in you. You came into my life like the rain to a parched desert. You made me understand the sensitivity and tenderness present within my own heart. You made a melancholy poet like me find the elixir of love. Your tenderness and sensitivity has pervaded into the very pore of my being. Last night you made me inhale the fragrance of the moon. I love you. And I can't love anyone else after you!

If I have loved anyone truly it is you. You are the completeness of my incompleteness. You walked into my life and made me fall in love with life. I who was a wanderer in search of true love found the ocean of love in you. You came into my life like the rain to a parched desert. You made me understand the sensitivity and tenderness present within my own heart. You made a melancholy poet like me find the elixir of love. Your tenderness and sensitivity has now pervaded into the very pore of my being. Last night you made me inhale the fragrance of the moon. I love you. And I can't love anyone else after you!

If tenderness is any sort of currency maybe I don't want what it can buy.

I knelt and locked the door. I locked the door locking the world and time outside. I stretched my body across the mattress and Saskia drew in close to me and placed her open hand on my chest, her mouth near my shoulder; her breath, my breath blew out the candle, and I held my lost Wanderess with tenderness until sweet sleep overcame us.

I have always been obsessed with fragrances. The burgundy tenderness of fragrances gives me a high. The Intoxication of fragrances casts a magic spell on me.

I peek up at his features, at the crooked grin i want to savor, at the color in his eyes i'd use to paint a million pictures.

...I lost my illusions in a black rain of bitterness - now what do you see in my eyes? How can you still love me? How can I be tender? ...

I made spasmodic efforts to work, assuring myself that once I began working I would forget her. The difficulty was in beginning. There was a feeling of weakness, a sort of powerlessness now, as though I were about to be ill but was never quite ill enough, as though I were about to come down with something I did not quite come down with. It seemed to me that for the first time in my life I had been in love, and had lost, because of the grudgingness of my heart, the possibility of having what, too late, I now thought I wanted. What was it that all my life I had so carefully guarded myself against? What was it that I had felt so threatened me? My suffering, which seemed to me to be a strict consequence of having guarded myself so long, appeared to me as a kind of punishment, and this moment, which I was now enduring, as something which had been delayed for half a lifetime. I was experincing, apparently, an obscure crisis of some kind. My world acquired a tendency to crumble as easily as a soda cracker. I found myself horribly susceptible to small animals, ribbons in the hair of little girls, songs played late at night over lonely radios. It became particularly dangerous for me to go near movies in which crippled girls were healed by the unselfish love of impoverished bellhops. I had become excessively tender to all the more obvious evidences of the frailness of existence; I was capable of dissolving at the least kind word, and self-pity, in inexhaustible doses, lay close to my outraged surface. I moved painfully, an ambulatory case, mysteriously injured.

In a moment of naked honesty, ask yourself, 'Do I wholeheartedly trust that God likes me'... in this moment, right now, right here, with all my faults and weaknesses?' If you answer without hesitation, 'Oh yes, God does like me; in fact, He's very fond of me.' you're living in the wisdom of accepted tenderness." re: A.W. Tozer's statement "What comes into our minds when we think about God, is the most important thing about us.

in the afterglow of an evening rain i lay down in the grass and think of you my body aches like an after-kiss breaking in soft fires and wildflowers my dear, i will always be this tender for you.

I've fixed my feelings into durable words when they could have been spent on tenderness

It isn’t violence that can break through our hearts. It isn’t force that binds us and keeps us together. Only tenderness has the power to accomplish what the fullness of love desires to do. Tenderness that approaches us little by little, and handles our feelings with the deepest affection and delight. Tenderness that is willing to wait for the right time until we are ready and we are no longer afraid.

It is better to have a tender than harden human heart.