Francois de La Rochefoucauld Quotes

I want to fill every part of you, breathe the air from your lungs and leave my handprints on your soul. I want to give you more pleasure than you can bear.

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

Love. That was what she had that IT did not have.

I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart.

One of the most frustrating words in the human language, as far as I could tell, was love. So much meaning attached to this one little word. People bandied it about freely, using it to describe their attachments to possessions, pets, vacation destinations, and favorite foods. In the same breath they then applied this word to the person they considered most important in their lives. Wasn’t that insulting? Shouldn’t there be some other term to describe deeper emotion?

At the heart of all things is love.

I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.

Love manifests itself in our bodies as instinctive craving, in our souls as devotion, and in our minds as pride.

But Anne, do you love him?" I asked curiously. The curve of her hood hid all but the corner of her smile. "I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for his touch.

I want to be where your heart is home I want to see you with the light in the morning There's never been such a beautiful warning to me, to me

Love is friendship that has caught fire . . .

You can feel that he wants to own you - not like an object but like a good dream he wants to keep having. He lets you know that you already own him.

But it is not reason that governs love.

You can't quantify love, and if you try, you can end up focusing on misleading factors. Stuff that really has more to do with personality-the fact that some people are simply more expressive or emotional or needy in a relationship. But beyond such smokescreens, the answer is there. Love is seldom-almost never-an even proposition.

Love is implicit in every connection. It should be. Thus when absent it makes us insane. (You Shall Know Our Velocity)

It's bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They're not. They're just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.

I endeavor not to conceal that I believe there is a great mixture of desire in the passion which is called love--or rather, without any far-fetched strain on words, it may be called the companion of love.

I want to kiss her without counting the seconds. I want to hold her so long that I get to know her skin. I want, I want, I want.

To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle.

No, I like you alive and warm and wiggling.

Everyone is having sex until they fall in love. When you fall in love, then it's making love.

Feeling one "has"; love occurs.

Stuart stands and says, 'Come here,' and he's on my side of the room in one stride and he claps my hands to his hips and kisses my mouth like I am the drink he's been dying for all day and I've heard girls say it's like melting, that feeling. But I think it's like rising, growing even taller and seeing sights over a hedge, colors you've never seen before.

What do any of us really know about love?