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Romantic Quotes

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Romantic Quotes

“One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his dictation, he came and bent over me, and said--"Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?" I had a gold watch-chain: I answered "Yes." "And have you a pale blue dress on? I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was sure of it.”

InspirationalRomantic
Book:Jane Eyre
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“The directness of her question throws me. "I don't know. Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities...to get together with someone. And we've both screwed up so many times"- my voice grows quiet - "that we've missed our chance." "Anna." Mer pauses. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard." "But—" "But what? You love him, and he loves you, and you live in the most romantic city in the world.”

LoveRomanticParis
Book:Anna and the French Kiss
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“My mom believed that you make your own luck. Over the stove she had hung these old, maroon painted letters that spell out, “MANIFEST.” The idea being if you thought and dreamed about the way you wanted your life to be -- if you just envisioned it long enough, it would come into being. But as hard as I had manifested Astrid Heyman with her hand in mine, her blue eyes gazing into mine, her lips whispering something wild and funny and outrageous in my ear, she had remained totally unaware of my existence. Truly, to even dream of dreaming about Astrid, for a guy like me, in my relatively low position on the social ladder of Cheyenne Mountain High, was idiotic. And with her a senior and me a junior? Forget it. Astrid was just lit up with beauty: shining blonde ringlets, June sky blue eyes, slightly furrowed brow, always biting back a smile, champion diver on the swim team. Olympic level. Hell, Astrid was Olympic level in every possible way.”

RomanceRomanticYoung AdultCrushYoung Adult FictionYoung LoveCrushesMonument 14
Author:Emmy Laybourne
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“Moon, that against the lintel of the west Your forehead lean until the gate be swung, Longing to leave the world and be at rest, Being worn with faring and no longer young, Do you recall at all the Carian hill Where worn with loving, loving late you lay, Halting the sun because you lingered still, While wondering candles lit the Carian day? Ah, if indeed this memory to your mind Recall some sweet employment, pity me, That even now the dawn's dim herald see! I charge you, goddess, in the name of one You loved as well: endure, hold off the sun.”

PoetryNatureRomanticPersonification
Book:Unknown Book 7720699
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“This boy," he said, indicating the paintings with one sweep of his arms, "was romantic. He thought that it was beauty that bound everything together. And for him it was true. Life had been beautiful for him. He was very young. He knew very little of life. He saw beauty but he did not feel any true passion. How could he? He did not know. He had not really encountered the force of beauty's opposite." "Are you more cynical now, then?" she asked him. "Cynical," he frowned, "No, not that. I know that there is an ugly side of life-and not just human life. I know that everything is not simply beautiful. I am not a romantic as this boy was. But I am not a cynic either. There is something enduring in all of life, Anne, something tough. Something. Something terribly weak yet incredibly powerful...”

LifeBeautyRomanticUglyCynic
Book:Simply Love
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“A six-foot-tall man—likely in his mid-twenties—appeared, effortlessly striking in a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a slim gold chain resting against the curve of his neck. His Adam’s apple moved with quiet confidence. He wore loose beige trousers held in place by a simple black belt, the look casual yet deliberate. A sleek watch clung to his left wrist, and the sleeves of his shirt were neatly rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms toned just enough to notice. His hair dense, black, and brushed back, though a few rebellious strands had fallen onto his fore-head, softening the sharpness of his features. His lips—unexpectedly light pink—stood out against his warm wheat-brown complexion. Draped casu-ally over one shoulder was a bag that didn’t quite match the rest of him—delicate, almost feminine. It looked like something that belonged to his mother. He didn’t seem to care; he carried it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “What are you doing here?” he asked to Mohini, looking at Nia with sur-prise. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze steady. “Your mom got hit by a suitcase, her knees are bleeding. Can you please ask her to do first aid quickly before it gets worse?” Nia stood up, her words tumbling out fast, her brow slightly furrowed. “What? You got hurt? How? Show me,” he said, sitting down beside his mother’s knees, his hand gently lifting the fabric to reveal dried blood on her clothes. “It must be a small scratch. It bled, but it’s stopped now—and see, the blood has hardened,” Mohini said in a casual tone, waving her hand as if to brush away the concern. “I know it’s not hurting you, but sometimes a small wound changes into something bigger if we don’t look after it at the right time. See, it’s almost time to board—please go to the restroom and wash it out at least. The amount of blood is not that small,” Nia said, standing again as she spoke, bending to grab her bag and finally managing to lift it onto her shoulder. “Well… thank you for taking care of my mom,” the man said, looking at Nia with deliberate attention, his eyes steady on hers. “He is my son—Dev,” Mohini introduced, her voice carrying quiet pride. “Nice to meet you,” Nia said, stepping sideways to leave the table space, her body angled toward the exit. “It was nice meeting you too, Ma’am. I have to go. Bye,” Nia smiled, giv-ing a small nod before turning away and walking off.”

LoveFictionDramaRomanticTwistsHealing Journey
Book:Violets: Where Love Blooms Quietly
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“For all the time I’d spent reviewing Holmes’s log on my phone in recent days, it held significantly more meaning now, here in my hands. When I’d first held this journal, I’d chalked Holmes up to little more than another unfortunate drowned sailor. And perhaps even a criminal. But now, I knew he was a man who’d fallen in love with a witch of the sea. A man who’d been determined to return to her.”

RomanticYoung ManJournalSea Witch
Book:The Amalfi Curse
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