I’m crazy in love. I’m just crazy.
If it is what it isn’t, it must be love. And I must be in it.
I’m not in the City of Love, but I am in love. That’s why I look like I’m crazy, because being crazy is a prerequisite to being in love.
With a palindrome of a name, like Bob, I’d be both right thinking and dyslexic. Would you love me more as a Bob, or as a Bob?
My boxers should require batteries, because I’m such an exceptional lover that pizza delivery people call me for carry out. 30 minutes or less—as if!
Your love story, I don’t want to give away the ending, but both you and your lover die.
She was washing all the dishes by hand, so I bought her a machine. I bought her a lawnmower. That’s what you do when you’re in love.
My nickname isn’t Scarface—it’s Scarf Ace. I make knitted neck warmers like I make love—one grandmother at a time.
I love you because I love you, and if you don’t like it you can use my circular logic as a noose and hang yourself.
Love is the only gift that’s acceptable to give away as soon as you get it.
You can’t buy love, it’s true. However, I am offering mine for rent. Buy one year and get the next six months at half price.
I am passionate about creating, not about procreating. My love for art is greater than my love for making love.
I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I chickened out, like a beef taco. The crunchy kind, not the soft shell.
I’m selling a rainbow in a bowl (no spoon included). I’m calling it Love Soup, even though it’s nothing more than tap water.
There’s a marked difference between Mark Ed and Ed Mark. Same as the difference between making love and loving make—and I do both, for a very reasonable price.
I want her when she doesn’t want me, and I don’t want her when she wants me. Now that’s love in the 21st century!
I was short staffed. But that's what happens when all your employees are midgets. I make love like spicy rice.
My girlfriend and I are close. She’s like a brother to me. My brother is also dating her. We make love like mannequins and mashed potatoes, despite the fact that I’m single and an only child.
I farted like a pack of crying onions. That was my response to her I love you.
I waffled over the issue like a pancake with texture similar to the bottom of a 1970s track shoe. I ran through all sides, and decided it’s love.
I took some of the price off, and she took some of her clothes off. She made love and I made money.
