Often you don't know whether a woman is friend, enemy or lover until it is too late. Sometimes, she is all three.
Because there is nothing here than invites us to cherish unhappy lovers. Nothing is more vain than to die for love. What we ought to do is live.
Being with Mary was different because...he wasn't the only one who wanted to make love to her. The beast wanted her, too. The beast wanted out so it could take her.
Rhage exhaled slowly, air easing out of his nose. As he sank into his skin, he reveled in the perfection of peace. The heavenly silence. The great roaring absence.
Every act of loving affirms the goodness of the lover just because he is capable of loving and being loved.
Perhaps only people who are capable of real togetherness have that look of being alone in the universe. The others have a certain stickiness, they stick to the mass.
For {she} had adopted the standard of the young: what there was in the moment was everything. And moments followed one another without necessarily belonging to one another.
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.
