Gondolas are romantic. Forgetting the last word in the phrase “I love you” isn’t romantic. Still, I get credit for rowing, right?
Your love, it takes me to the moon. Let’s get back to the film studio and start over. Pour a small cup of coffee while I take one large sip for mankind.
I drink trees, and I pee beavers. I know, you must imagine that I’m an exceptional lover. And I am! (I’m imagined, not an exceptional lover).
My love for her is as nuanced as a Nancy, and I wish her name were Nancy so I could more effectively convey my love for her.
My love for her is deep, like the ocean, only not so salty. My love for her probably only has as much salt as a bag of potato chips, though it’s much, much more addicting to munch on.
If life has taught me anything, it’s that no matter what you should do, you should love. Even if you’re in the process of murdering someone, possibly a politician, your heart should be filled with love.
Love is something you must work at. And if you can’t work at it, don’t expect the government to subsidize you. At least not until the Central Bank figures out how to counterfeit emotions.
She got me nothing for my birthday. When I saw the empty box, I said, “Ah, you shouldn’t have!” I love a box full of emptiness.
If my house were burning down, the one thing I’d take with me is my vast collection of smoke. I consider smoke the souls of dead cigarettes my lovers have exhaled.
I love that she loves me a 10, on a 5-point scale. Well, I know it’s a 5-point scale, though I asked her on a 1-100 scale.
I’ll bet I could find some hurtful words in a pile of sticks and stones. Something like an insincere and deceptive "I love you.
Beth We Steve I know you can Dave. I’m a lover, not a We’re Closed Until Further Notice kind of mannequin. Your donkey is my motorcycle of desire.
Where other men failed, I was able to unzip her pants. All I did was gently turn the handle. I make love like a locksmith in a room with no doors.
We fell in love like two medium pizzas in one large stomach. I wish dad would have saved a few slices for us.
Falling in love should be natural, like the food at Moe’s. Baby, I am so hungry for you, even though I know queso costs extra.
Have faith my friends, because love will find you eventually. It found me, and I was wearing camouflage clothing, face paint, and cologne that smelled like the wilderness.
Why take the stairs when someone else can take them for you? Love is like a flight of stairs—somebody’s going to take them, so I may as well be unselfish and take the elevator.
I would give you all my love, but I’m afraid I’d get nothing in return. And coming from you, nothing is simply much more than I want.
Toothpaste pie is no substitute for swishing around minty-fresh love in your mouth and then rinsing out with cold, refreshing reality. But don’t take my word for it, because I’m not a dentist.
In the throes of passion, I threw out an I love you. Did I mean it? Does a dictionary mean what it says?
If love were seaweed, I’d ask myself one question: Are you the sort of person who’d swim through it, or would you rather eat it? As for me, pass me my Speedo, and a spoon.
