I want the gift of a guitar—no strings attached. I want your love to also have no strings attached—and be just as musical.
Love is a gift. Mine comes in a box that’s shaped like a coffin.
The best gift is one that’s paid for by the recipient. My love for you is for sale.
I’m as much a lover as a cumulous cloud is a beard of God. My mustache can’t make rain the way I make love.
My heart hated her, but my penis loved her. Taken together, I felt normal.
The greatest thing in the world is love. But the worst isn’t hate, it’s ignoringance.
I’m such a terrible speller that sometimes I misspell words so bad that they become unreadably readable. For example, I might misspell a simple word like “Love” and have it come out as the properly spelled “Hate.
I’ll carry Carrie like my hands are as empty as my heart. I never hold my own love.
A car’s gas tank should be see-through, so I don’t have to rely on a possibly faulty gauge to tell me it’s approaching empty. The human heart should also be see-through, so I can tell if you’ve really given me all your love.
Cages are good. My heart is in my rib cage, and love is in my heart. We should put more things in cages, like politicians.
I am the Zero Zoo. See the empty cage that is my heart. I’d like to imprison your love there.
She said she loves me. Not out loud, but in her mind she said it. I heard it with my heart, telepathically.
Love is like a trapdoor for the heart .
Is love a gift from heaven? If it is, it’s often wrapped in disinterest and rejection.
I believe in true love. But my opinion is tainted, because I also believe in Bigfoot, aliens, and in the existence of honest politicians.
I wish every envelope enclosed a love letter. It’s this hope that leads me to open strangers’ mail. So you see, I’m a romantic, not an NSA employee.
I know a thing or two about love. Well, maybe just a thing. A big, blurry thing, like Bigfoot.
I run like I walk—only slower. And I make love like a one-man circus show.
I make love like the 13th floor is the 14th floor of a hotel. I give it that little extra that takes it to a whole new level.
It doesn’t take a hurricane to blow out a birthday candle. Let this be a lesson in love—and cake etiquette.
I left a jar in the doorway to leave the door ajar, but love never walked in.
