Best 1752 quotes in «lovers quotes» category

Perfectionists talk about first love. Realists talk about true love. Optimists talk just about love.

Perfume counters in department stores, Holly Deblin smells of, the middle of July, and cinnamon Tic Tacs.

...perhaps, also this short embrace may infuse in their veins a little of this thrill which they would not have known without it, and will give to those two dead souls, brought to life in a second, the rapid and divine sensation of this intoxication, of this madness which gives to lovers more happiness in an instant than other men can gather during a whole lifetime.

Please… Whoever you are, whatever you are… I believe in you even though I don’t completely understand you. I feel you around me even though I can’t exactly describe what I’m feeling. Sometimes things happen to me and I know that you’re there and I’m humbled by the lack of coincidence that exists in the world. Whatever you want from me, it’s yours — just please help me. You know how I get when I lose control, and I find myself constantly being pulled back there these days.

Pretty people are a dime a dozen and sex can be had with a complete stranger......but crossing paths with one who awakens within you a poetic melody that echoes throughout the depths of your soul, that is one of life's truest delicacies.

Pleasure can turn the body into a slave. Desire can turn the mind into a fool. Passion can turn the heart into a beast. Love can turn the soul into an angel.

Plucking a rose only proves you desire it, but nurturing it proves you love it.

Prue’s attention stayed on their joined hands. “What does it feel like to be touched by a man, Rosie?” The madam grew serious. “I’ve worked in a tavern for many years, honey. It’s been a long time since I was young and innocent like you.” “Please, Rosie,” Prue begged. “Tell me what it was like before you came to work at the tavern. Were you ever with a man?” Rosie nodded. “I was, Prue.” “What was it like?” Tears welled in the madam’s eye’s, long ago memories returning to her. “It was the most wondrous pleasure you could ever imagine.” Hearing a knock on the door, Rosie quickly wiped away her tears. “W-who is it?” -from Mistress of Purity

...Quando Isabelle alzò lo sguardo ebbe l’impressione che il cuore le si fermasse. Stava risalendo insieme a Jeanne la scalinata che dall’Orangerie riportava al castello dopo avere verificato che per loro quella poteva essere la via di fuga perfetta la sera dello spettacolo. Era emozionata e non vedeva l’ora di fare ritorno alla locanda per potere parlare liberamente dei dettagli del piano che aveva in mente con l’amica, quando all’improvviso si era trovata a guardare un uomo il cui sguardo avrebbe riconosciuto in mezzo a mille. Jacques. Lui era lì a pochi passi da lei e quell’incontro non aveva senso. Perché mai Jacques si trovava lì a Corte,a Versailles e per giunta vestito da aristocratico? No, c’era qualcosa di sbagliato. L’uomo che aveva amato e che ancora non riusciva a dimenticare non era un semplice borghese che rientrava da un viaggio all’estero? Forse però quella era semplicemente l’idea che lei si era fatta di lui, dopotutto Jacques non le aveva mai detto chi fosse realmente. «Cosa c’è?» domandò Jeanne vedendo l’amica ancora immobile e visibilmente sconvolta. Poi alzò lo sguardo anche lei e vide quel giovane bellissimo e riccamente vestito che fissava l’amica. Se però a lei quel volto non diceva nulla, diversamente fu quando il suo sguardo si spostò sull’altro uomo che intanto aveva raggiunto Jacques e si era fermato accanto a lui. «Oh mio Dio» mormorò Jeanne. La situazione che si era creata aveva qualcosa di surreale. Isabelle, Jacques, Jeanne e Nicolas che si fissavano l’un l’altro lì, immobili su quella scalinata e con le prime fredde gocce di pioggia che cominciavano a cadere sui loro visi. Il rombo del tuono annunciò che il temporale era ormai arrivato. Sembrava che il tempo fosse congelato. Nessuno osava fare un gesto o pronunciare una parola. Infine fu Isabelle a parlare per prima. «Tu...qui?» riuscì a dire. Gli occhi azzurri di Jacques puntati in quelli verde smeraldo di lei. “Dio quanto è bella” pensò l’uomo avvicinandosi alla giovane che aveva lasciato due mesi prima. Vedere quegli occhi, quei lunghi capelli corvini legati in una treccia come ricordava di averli visti quella prima sera insieme alla locanda… e poi quel semplice vestito bordeaux che metteva in risalto il colore ambrato della sua pelle nonché le sue forme che ancora ricordava così bene. Il ricordo di loro due insieme era ancora troppo forte, troppo vivo in lui e quell’incontro non aveva fatto altro che riaccendere i suoi sentimenti e il suo desiderio. «Isabelle» fu tutto quello che l’uomo riuscì a dire. Aveva sceso gli ultimi gradini della lunga scalinata che ancora lo separavano da lei e se avesse allungato un braccio avrebbe potuto sfiorarle il viso con la mano...

Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos

Reaffirm your love for one another and let grow.

Pragmatism is good prevention for problems.

Relationships are never complicated. You’re either together or you’re not. If someone says it’s complicated, it really just means someone’s killing time until something better comes along.

Religion is a good time pass, better than philosophy, and a million times better than love; love is a wastage of an era.

Relying on one person can make you dull so broaden your outlook, find new friends and have new experiences...Life is waiting for you to live...

Reminiscent of a diamond, she is gifted, privileged, and positioned to glisten.

Returning to bed, Rachel strokes Zachariah's black curls as he drifts into sleep and appreciates the shape and fractal geometry there, the self-similarity and infinity of scale. She breathes in at his scalp, then presses her ear to his, listening for the clamour of voices within, to the long line of fighting men who made him, his head a seashell. There is a template for the fighting man. Rachel listens across three times nine countries, as the fairy-tale saying goes, across three times nine countries in the thirtieth tsardom . . .

Ridges of muscle on his stomach rose under his skin like divisions on a slab of chocolate. He held her close by the light of an oil lamp, and he shone as though he had been polished with a high-wax body polish.

Red eyes, clogged vessels, tanned cells and septum holes, She came up to me with an ashtray, and a bunch of tobacco rolls, I mean, how can I fill the gap that you've created?? How could I switch the clock back to the past, for the time I have wasted? I have gone a sedate now; the heart has stopped pumping zeal into my head, And for the hole in my heart, which is so dead now, which has run out of life now, I carry the loads of moments that you've endowed.

Roberto knew that he now had the power to influence the future. He needed to send a message back, and whatever he chose to say would affect Rosa and would help to guide her future choices. He felt a strong sense of guilt and responsibility about the situation in which he found himself, but he knew that he had to make it work. Somehow he needed to find a way to do the best that he could by his Rosa.

Realizing that many you once thought the world of are nothing but glorified assholes means you've grown up.

Romance her, enhance her, desire her, put her first.

Run, sweetheart, run.

savor with me the lushness of a lingering sleep... and last night’s dream.

Rylin’s arms fell to her sides as she turned slowly to face him. You can stop this, she reminded herself, but she didn’t, she couldn’t, or maybe she just didn’t want to. It seemed to Rylin that she was in a sort of trance, that time had halted and the whole world was holding its breath. Cord’s lips on hers felt like fire. Without another thought she was rising on tiptoe to kiss him back, clinging tight to his shoulders as the only solid thing in a dizzying world. She knew this was wrong, but everything else felt so far away, like something she’d imagined in another life. A splash sounded in the water behind them, as another pair of lovers tossed a key off the bridge and into the night.

Seeing him again had been a gut punch.

Rose, we are here today. Tomorrow we don’t know where life will take us to. So, as long as we have today in our hands, let’s not slip it from our hands. Let’s live it!

Seeing her cry still made me feel the same way it did earlier.

Seharusnya ada perayaan hari ini, bukan peluk sesaat untuk selamanya.

Shakespeare said that poets, lovers, and madmen enjoy absolute freedom.

She believes in love, in destiny and she knows ...she feels her prince in her destiny. She just has to wait for the right time.....

She affected me, even when she was absent.

She danced in the shower of my words & I fell softly: Upon her.

She couldn't turn away from the eyes that held her. Eyes as deep, as Dark as the night, yet there was something that sparked with warmth, that kept those eyes from being cold.

She could have just told him about the magic phone. Full disclosure. Then they could have solved it together. They could have Sherlocked and Watsoned from both ends of the timeline

She: Do you think you own me? He: No I don't own you. I love you!

She felt a feathery touch on her back and turn to see the man of her pleasures standing with her in the shower. Lost in her own thoughts, he’d managed to sneak in unheard. She looked at him now. His naked body glistened as the water rolled down his broad chest, over the firm and delicious abs and on down to his… On my, what a big boy, she whispered as she reached for him.

Self power drives a symbolic representation of abstract beauty

She goes down like the sunset & brings the sweetest night creatures howling out of me.

She gave her husband such a night of sexual pleasure that his eyes followed her constantly after that, narrow and hot. He grew molten when she passed near other men, and at night they made their own shaking tent. They got teased too much and moved farther off, into the brush, into the nesting ground of shy and holy loons. There, no one could hear them. In solitude they made love until they became gaunt and hungry, pale windigos with aching eyes, tongues of flame.

Sé que mañana despertaré, Gryal, y lo haré tan vacía y triste como un río sin lluvia. Dime, amado, ¿quién será mi lluvia? ¿Quién mojará mi cuerpo cuando me faltes? Vuelve, amor, vuelve sano y salvo, porque si no yo no tendré primavera...

She had been hesitant the first night, right before she had launched into him like a wild animal. The imprint of her violence had lasted on him well until the morning and while he had been hurt, he had loved the fact that she was into him, that she lusted after him fanatically, that she scratched him, wept on him, bit him and he was grateful that she let him see her like that: unhinged, throbbing and warm-skinned. She was powerful and thus ironically all the more defenceless in surrender. At times he felt as though she truly hated him, hated him for making her feel like this, for having to condescend herself just by wanting him. He felt as though she was warning him constantly through her seething, hurtling silence; to not let her down after she had disclosed so much of her soul to him. Her insecurities, her memories, her fetishes, her scent, her limbs; they had all been laid-bare in front of him and as he lay there next to the girl whose chest heaved and fell like the meter of a ghazal, he fell in love with that girl and her bundle of contradictions.’ ('Left from Dhakeshwari')

She had assumed they would see each other every day but she hadn’t really thought about the implications of having an affair with a married man. It wasn’t going to be a normal relationship.

She is not an ordinary girl. She is my fairy who will change my life and make it beautiful with her smiles.

She is the nymph who keeps enticing me the sailor every time!

She is the nymph who keeps enticing me the sailor evey time!

She had missed him so long now, that the feeling had become a part of her. As each day passed, the missing distanced itself from her heart. One day she woke, and realized the missing was there but the pain was gone. Missing without pain is tolerable. Pain linked to heartache is intolerable.

She left, never to return. I planted a tree and a seed each time I thought of her. I grew a small forest and a large garden and had no one to give the orchids to.

She lit wildfires inside my soul and fanned them with hurricanes.

She played the keys of my heart, gently yet sensually, setting my soul on fire.