That night when we made love, she saw a side of me she’d never seen—the left side.
None of us nine with the sixes. That’s the tragedy of love.
I am the Zam Maz of love. Or at least I will be, once 572w167e74zx2.
The girl I am in love with told me she’s moving on. Should I cry, or go to Jax beach and party? The ocean’s salty enough without my tears.
We were in Paris. We were in love. We were with other people at the time and wouldn’t even meet for two years.
Our love was so hot it could melt the polar ice caps. In fact, my passion’s probably to blame for global warming.
We made love like two bricks in an earthquake. I never imagined myself to be a man of such fiery passion.
We made love like green is blue. That’s because we were only half into it, though for the record I was the blue and she was the disinterested yellow.
The length of people I love is too long to list. But if you were to do it, it would look like a phone book.
Love comes in many sizes, as do rubber nets called condoms. I use those nets to fish for tiny people.
Escalators are the offspring of elevators and stairs. Love is the progeny of passion and admiration.
If you're doing it right, love takes everything you've got—just like a politician.
I believe in love like a flower bud might believe in Buddha. But, then, I’m a romantic, and you know that because in the last presidential election I voted for Grilled Cheese Sandwich.
Love is like politics, I think as I then think no it isn’t.
The race is long, and I am sprinting. If I ever see her again, I’ll probably be too out of breath to tell her I love her.
The party was dry, she was wet, and the sky was in the middle (cloudy, but no rain). Love was in the air, and that’s why I brought an umbrella.
I could have could haved, but instead I did have. Is there any other way to love?
I’m tired of calling @PapaJohns. I wish they’d call me for once. I’m starting to think they don’t love me.
Love is like a door—it’s either open or closed. Either that or it’s both—open to others, but closed to you.
Life, it’s made up of two things—time and love. A watch tells one, but what tells the other? We tell each other.
A windmill has arms, but does not hug. Where’s the love?
