It was clear that he didn't remember me from one day to the next. The note clipped to his sleeve simply informed him that it was not our first meeting, but it could not bring back the memory of the time we had spent together.
Give me a small intimate gathering of five people, a dinner party, where one-on-one conversations can be had, where people talk about current events, good books, good food, and weird news. That was my idea of a good time.
She said that one day they would be very old, that the world would be a different place, but it would always be their world, and that the time apart now would be a nightmare from which they would recover - desperation buried under years of happiness.
He gives me a little shrug, like, of course, why else? And at this point, I really have no right to be surprised by people's capacity for kindness and generosity, but still, I am. I'm floored every time.
Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed, so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must needs harness itself to pens and brushes a...
Don’t cluster tasks on your way. Some tasks would definitely have to be postponed to the next day. You can’t do all things in one day. You can’t chase two rabbits at the same time. Both will escape.
Sometimes to make no move is to make the wrong move. That’s how I fell in love with a statue. We just sat still and I formed a connection.
I am the parking garage of love, but sadly I’m empty at the moment. It’s cheaper if you pay for a whole week, rather than by the hour.
Even though my voice is invisible, my words aren’t dead and ghostlike. My “I love you” is alive and well.
My flashlight’s not working. I don’t know if the batteries are dead, but my mother-in-law sure as hell isn’t. When she dies, my love can live.
He lies on the couch all day watching television. I admire his classic American ambition. He’s probably a better lover than me.
Love is a skeleton wrapped in a bacon blanket. It’s sizzling and hot and tasty and I’d love to have some right now with a large cup of coffee.
I’m a murderer. I killed the conversation. She said she loved me, and I said, “If you love me, wait until you meet my clone!
I made a Lindsey Sandwich out of two Jennifers and a Jessica. Then I ate it like I make love—alone, in the corner, with a box of tissues and lots of tears.
I have the dance moves of a mustache, and a singing voice that sounds like a beard on the inside of my cheeks. Carry my love like karaoke in your pocket.
I’m divorced, so I know what it takes to make a marriage work. My love is like an empty box of desert. Just add water.
I wore a long white dress shirt and no pants, so it looked like a white dress. I felt like a bride in love. Well, at least until my boss fired me.
My gas tank is empty, and my stomach is empty, but my heart if full—of love. However, per gallon, I think I paid too much.
He asked me an important question, so I said nothing, but silently reached for a piece of paper and scribbled down the words: Peacocks love peach cobbler.
I accidentally sealed the box shut with my penis still inside, not realizing I may need to use it later. Being in love can be so distracting.
Love is like a cloud in a lake. It’s reflective and makes it feel like you are flying, when you are really either swimming or trying not to drown.
