I loved her like elephants like remembering stuff. Those bastards just won’t let me forget and move on.
A woman wants all the men to love her, and a man wants to love all the women. And as for me, I just want to be a shepherd, though not for sexual purposes.
I’m an accountant of sorts. But I don’t count my money—I count your love for me. That’s all that really matters in this world.
Winter is nature’s way of sitting on the sofa and not doing a damn thing. When love grows cold, maybe it’s just impersonating January.
It’s not until the break of dawn that the darkness gets to take a break. That’s also when the pain of losing yesterday’s love begins to lift.
Due to unfavorable weather (or, rather, favorable), we couldn’t make love in the rain. So instead we had sex in the shower, despite grandpa taking a bath in it.
I hear “I love you,” but I see “I love myself.
I'll never forget my time with her. The two of us made love like three lawn chairs—the kind that fold up.
I make love like hello, good to meet you. I would say hi, but I like to stretch it out and really make the sex last.
A soldier wages war, and for what, minimum wage? I’d rather make love for free—or better still, get paid to have sex.
Love is a fur helmet in a new sport called Petting, where physical contact is the object of the game. Even when you lose, you win.
Taste my tears and tell me I don’t have the saltiest love you’ve ever licked. My love for you is like a liquid potato chip.
When I think of you, I immediately think of someone else. That’s what I call love, and that’s why I never call you.
She said her heavy luggage had wheels, so I said, “Here, why don’t I carry that for you?” I was in stupid love.
If you find semen in your beer, you’ll no longer have to wonder why I no longer have an erection. Love touches us all, like I touch myself.
He looked like those paintings of baby angels - what do you call them, hubbubs? No cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park.
If I replace the word God with the word nature, I am far more at ease with the whole religious enterprise.
I'm not going anywhere," she told me that night. But until we are old ladies--a cypress age, a Sawtooth age--I will continue to link arms with her, in public, in private, in a panic of love.
I keep in too many of the words I need to let out. And then I let out too many of the words I need to keep in.
Those who succeed in an outstanding way seldom do so before the age of 40. More often, they do not strike their real pace until they are well beyond the age of 50.
The first door in the hall leads to youth, the second door leads to middle age, and the third door leads to the bathroom. But knock first, because I think grandpa’s in there.
