I liked you, cop. From the moment I met you. No… not the first moment. I wanted to kill you when I first met you. But then I liked you. A lot.
Who’d win in a fight, a tongue twister, or a tornado? How about who’d make a better lover in a diaper, me or Cupid?
The king died, and then the queen died of a broken heart. Her secret lover left her for a younger woman.
Oh, was that what you meant? I figured you were speaking of your manner of whoring. I should have known you were wanting to fuck me too.
Falling into ruin was a bit like falling in love: Both descents stripped you bare and left you as you were at your core. And both endings are equally painful.
What’s next? The size of my cock?” “Hey, even pencils can get the job done—I’ve heard the moaning from your room to prove it.
He says he’s lonely, horribly lonely because of this love he feels for her. She says she’s lonely too. She doesn’t say why.
When it's in a book I don't think it'll hurt any more ...exist any more. One of the things writing does is wipe things out. Replace them.
There isn’t going to be a ‘next lover,’” Grant said automatically, outraged by the idea. “I’m the only man she’s going to have.
Jane, you are my confidante, my helpmate, my friend. My lover. You are everything the word wife means to me. In my heart, we are wed. In my soul, you are mine.
Husband: a man with hopes of being a lover who settles for being a provider, causing his wife to grow suspicious of her depleting jewelry box.
You can learn a lot from your lovers, but-for the most part-you get to keep your friends longer, and you learn more from them.
Everything on earth has happened before, nothing is new, but woe to the lovers who fail to discover a fresh blossom in every future kiss.
Let’s be romantic and dance in the rain. I’ll prove my feelings for you by bringing an umbrella, because I’m a bring my own garden kind of lover.
I steal cracker packets. I hoard them. Once my collection is large enough, I’ll take them to the flea market and try to sell them to discerning lovers.
A pancake would make as good of a wheel as I’d make a lover. I would invite you to have a seat on my unicycle, but it’s sticky from maple syrup.
My love is shaped like a dog whistle—the sound, not the thing. As a lover, I’m a fighter. But dogs have more bark than me—and so do trees.
I want to merge oven mitts with boxing gloves, so I could effectively, and safely, fight fires. After all, fire fighters make better lovers.
Feel free to become a slave to your own clone. And mine. Remember, you can never have too many lovers who look exactly the same as me.
I buy the most expensive trash bags, and the lowest quality products to consume and throw away. As a lover, I’m always thinking about the end user.
I want to buy “A Touch of Gray,” because I’d look more distinguished with a touch of gray in my hair. Also, geriatrics make better lovers.
