Love allows us to remember the joy, and forget the pain. That’s why I write things down, to help me remember.
Love can’t tell time, but you can’t tell it that, because it won’t listen. I know, because I’ve tried.
We made love like two folding lawn chairs. We were both motionless, but the possibility of movement permeated the moment.
I am in love, and the river is beginning to ice over. I’d better go drown myself before I freeze to death.
We were in Paris. We were in love. We were with other people at the time and wouldn’t even meet for two years.
Love comes in many sizes, as do rubber nets called condoms. I use those nets to fish for tiny people.
The party was dry, she was wet, and the sky was in the middle (cloudy, but no rain). Love was in the air, and that’s why I brought an umbrella.
Life, it’s made up of two things—time and love. A watch tells one, but what tells the other? We tell each other.
A one-winged butterfly can’t fly. Neither can a half a heart love, or a half-hearted relationship work.
We made love the way a man with one leg might run a marathon. 26.2 miles is a long way to hop for an orgasm.
Should I take off my helmet before I make love? I'd better not, because my bicycle's breaks are worn out.
Would a boring machine drill holes—or put you to sleep? I make love like a robot, so maybe I do both.
...Love can give you the most exhilarating wonderful highs at times... ...Then there will be dives that will take all you have just to hold on... Quote on the Title Page of "Love TORN Asunder
The power of your smile accompanied me on my way; but your tears, the tears of concern for me, I will carry forever in my heart.
The challenges and changes you meet are, in effect, hand delivered to you by a generous, loving Universe for the purpose of making you stronger and wiser.
Sidda can't help herself. She just loves books. Loves the way they feel, the way they smell, loves the black letters marching across the white pages...
Desire is always followed by boredom. And only love can defeat boredom. Love with a capital L; we all dream of it.
People who are left alone tell the story but are never a part of it; those who are a part of the crowd, are story bound, acting upon the role assigned to them in the theater of living, loving and longing.
We become increasingly aware that the human dream, the human drama, with all its questionable, damaging, and often malevolent intention is not real life at all.
I don't have a love life. I have a like life.' Mamie smiled. She thought how nice that might be, to be peacefully free from love...
You cannot expect a man to love you, but not because of your body or physical construction. It is like giving a man the option between choosing you and a monkey.
