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Romantic Quotes

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Romantic Quotes

“The picture would remind Oliver of the morning when I first spoke out. Or of the day when we rode by the berm pretending not to notice it. Or of that day we'd decided to picnic there and had vowed not to touch each other, the better to enjoy lying in bed together the same afternoon. I wanted him to have the picture before his eyes for all time, his whole life, in front of his desk, of his bed, everywhere. Nail it everywhere you go, I thought.”

“Seth, we can't...not again...it's..." "I know," he said. At last, he crossed the threshold. "And I told myself...told myself I'd let it go...but I haven't stopped thinking about you since yesterday. And after tonight." Hesitantly, as though afraid someone might be lurking, he shut the door behind him. "Just the way you looked out there. It was...amazing. Believe me, I didn't screw up dancing because I'm bad at it-which I am. It's because I wasn't thinking about it at all. I was thinking about you. God, I couldn't stop. And it's not just how sexy you are tonight. It was more. It was the way you lit up the room, the way you charmed everyone and made them happy. You don't need any special powers to do that, Georgina. It's just in you, part of who you are. How funny you are, how smart. It's what made me fall in love you back then, and it's what..." He didn't finish, and I was glad. If he had said "...makes me love you now," I wouldn't have been able to handle it.”

“Adieu, Camille, retourne à ton couvent, et lorsqu’on te fera de ces récits hideux qui t’ont empoisonnée, réponds ce que je vais te dire : Tous les hommes sont menteurs, inconstants, faux, bavards, hypocrites, orgueilleux et lâches, méprisables et sensuels ; toutes les femmes sont perfides, artificieuses, vaniteuses, curieuses et dépravées ; le monde n’est qu’un égout sans fond où les phoques les plus informes rampent et se tordent sur des montagnes de fange ; mais il y a au monde une chose sainte et sublime, c’est l’union de deux de ces êtres si imparfaits et si affreux. On est souvent trompé en amour, souvent blessé et souvent malheureux ; mais on aime, et quand on est sur le bord de sa tombe, on se retourne pour regarder en arrière, et on se dit : J’ai souffert souvent, je me suis trompé quelques fois, mais j’ai aimé. C’est moi qui ai vécu, et non pas un être factice créé par mon orgueil et mon ennui.”

“Pobre de mi madre, ella me trajo impecable a este mundo y cuidó de que no me diera pañalitis, que la varicela no dejara recuerdos, que en las piernas no me quedaran las marcas de las caídas o que el acné no dejara cicatrices. Así me entregó al mundo cuando pensó que era un adulto, que siguiendo su ejemplo me mantendría lejos de los peligros y que no sería igual de niñata de correr como cabra al precipicio. Pero nunca me advirtió de enamorarme, nunca mencionó que existía una herida que ni ella podría curar, solo el tiempo.”

“pero a veces sencillamente lo sabes. Que esa persona no es cualquiera, que la piel no se te pone de gallina en vano, que el brillo en tus ojos y esa sonrisa estúpida y perpetua no la consigue el chico que te sirve el café en el Starbucks aunque lleva meses intentándolo. Sabes que hay algo especial porque en tu interior algo estalla y se renueva. Y ya no eres el mismo. Es así de místico e inevitable.”

“Although they probably know that some children were used and some children are used as miners, most adults are ignorant of the chocolate industry’s use of minors.”

“You say 'love' too easily, Kepler." "No, not rally - please don't call me that. The idea that love has to be a blazing romantic thing of monogamous stability is innately ludicrous. You loved your parents, perhaps, because they were the warmth you could flee to. You loved your first childhood crush with a passion that made your lips tingle, your flesh grow light in their presence. You loved your wife with the steadiness of an ocean against the shore; your lover with the blaze of a shooting star, your best friend with the confidence of a mountain. Love is a many-splendorous thing, as the old song says....”

“The garden shimmered with candlelight from dozens of sweetly scented beeswax tapers set around to illuminate the space. In the center stood her painting table, now neatly draped in a crisp, white linen tablecloth and laid with her best china, crystal and silver. More lighted candles were arranged on the table, a small vase of flowers set in the middle, tender petals of red, pink and ivory adding a pleasing burst of color. More color glowed in the sky, sunset turning the horizon a glorious golden apricot.”

“Le golpeé el abdomen mientras me reía. —¿Por qué eres tan cruel? —Porque si te digo que todo estará bien, te estaría mintiendo. Es lo lógico que extrañes a alguien que quisiste tanto, con quien compartiste parte de tu vida y frente a quien te desnudaste y no me refiero solamente al cuerpo. Pero es la forma en la que tu cerebro procesa la ausencia, vas a estar triste, tendrás recuerdos, añoranzas, maldecirás y te mentirás para sentirte mejor. Debes vivirlo, dejarlo salir, gritar, llorar… sacarlo de ti. Pero, lo peor que puedes hacer es darle más importancia de la necesaria. No te encierres ni te aísles. Habla, con tus amigos, conmigo o con los gatos. —¿Quién eres? —Le puyé el brazo. —La respuesta a tu S.O.S. Tu rescatista. Vamos.”

“You know nothing says love like a man holding a bucket, waiting for you to hurl into it." "No, offense, you start hurling and I'm going to be needed immediately downstairs in the casino ... I guarantee it." She glared at him with only her one eye open. "That's not very romantic." He scoffed at her aggravated tone. "Excuse me? Did I miss something? What has ever been romantic about vomit?" "A man standing by your side when you're sick. Holding your hair back from your face ... that's romantic." "In what alternate universe do you live? Here in a place I like to call reality, that's disgusting. Who in their right mind would find that romantic?”