Lisa Kleypas Quotes

Sweet,” he whispered, and stole a kiss from her lips. “Sweet… let me stay with you a little longer.” -Jack to Amanda

I do want love. Genuine love.

May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.

Kiss me out of desire, but not consolation.

A kiss is the outward visible sign of an inward fever.

When lovers kiss on the cheeks, it is because they are searching, feeling for one another's lips. Lovers are made by a kiss.

If I had the stars from the darkest night and the diamonds from the deepest ocean, I'd forsake them all for your sweet kiss, for that's all I'm wishin' to be ownin'.

His kisses were gifts. He kissed with everything he had, with power and passion and hunger and love. He held nothing back, giving everything, exposing everything.

I will bathe in your warmth ma petite. Roll you around me until my heart beats only for you. My breath will grow warm from your kiss.

Yet losing him seemed unbearable. He was the one she loved, the one she would always love, and as he leaned in to kiss her, she gave herself over to him. While he held her close, she ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the strength in his arms. She knew he’d wanted more in their relationship than she’d been willing to offer, but here and now, she suddenly knew she had no other choice. There was only this moment, and it was theirs.

You're mine, Angel," he murmured, brushing the words across my jawbone as I arched my neck higher, inviting him to kiss everywhere. "You have me forever.

Colleen McCullough taught me that desire is the heart of romance.

Kisses, even to the air, are beautiful.

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

I want to be kissed by the people I love.

Love is friendship set on fire.

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write; And, ever since, it grew more clean and white.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.

Love is the poetry of the senses.

I want so much for my lover. At night when our beds are drawn close together I waken and see his dear yellow head on the pillow - sometimes his arm thrown over on my bed - and I kiss his hand, very softly so that it will not waken him.

I only cook when I'm in love.

The beginning of love is a horror of emptiness.

Many of my poems are not sexual.

Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.

Sex is a momentary itch, love never lets you go.