In fact, the more each person can remove his or her ego from the discussion and focus on the subject matter, the more fruitful the conversation will be for all involved.
How do you not fall in love with him?" The tears begin flowing just as quickly as they were ceasing. I grab yet another tissue. "I don't not fall in love with him. I don't not fall in love with him a lot!
It is the capacity to feel consuming grief and pain and despair that also allows me to embrace love and joy and beauty with my whole heart. I must let it all in.
I want to tell you what's really happened." "Not now. Please not now. Whatever's happened, come and make love to me." And we did make love; not sex, but love; though sex would have been so much wiser.
It is only through my daughter that I have come to realise that a life without femininity – devoid of mystery, emotion, gentleness and the unerring power of a woman’s love – is no life at all.
...we named her Dorothy Ann. Dolly, for short. I kissed her warily, fearful of the pain of loving her, love her, though love her I did; fearful lest she hurt me by dying.
With friends like me, who needs mannequins? My love for you is statuesque. Come, let us dance like we’re made of stone.
Somebody get me a bottle of booze—and a reason to quit drinking. I fell in love twice today, and I only encountered one other person.
I am the qorj of love. If you find that hard to believe, then I’d like to sell you a Bible.
My book has no plot. Wait, yes it does—in the cemetery. It’s a love story where one character is dead, and the other is a dirty pervert.
Ever seen a cat with polka-dotted zebra fur? Come to my House of Love Open House this Friday night at 8:00 PM.
I made Tuesday Salad like Monday morning is Sunday night. Do you agree on the difference a day can make in the realm of love?
I cried at the funeral. It wasn’t because I loved her, it was because I was there, in the front pew at the church, chopping onions.
I want a coffee machine that runs on gasoline and drives me to work. We can make love in the backseat, next to the cream and sugar.
Every time we made love, one of us cried. Mostly it was me, out of joy, but occasionally it was her, out of despair.
I had a dream about you. You were a midget, only shorter. But your love for me was tall and handsome and everything you’re not.
My ashtray is full, the carton of cigarettes is empty, and I just cremated grandpa. But I never inhaled—or told him I loved him.
The fire burnt down our House of Love. Our relationship didn’t work because I was the water, and she was the empty hose.
Just because your plate is empty, doesn’t mean your stomach is full. Same with love. Where’s the Romance Buffet?
In the future, man will travel on flying carpets, and shoes that float on water. And we’ll all make love together, as one, as one might masturbate today.
When I didn’t see a ghost, I knew I’d seen a ghost, because ghosts are invisible. This logic also lets me know when I’m in love.
