Lucy and I would love furiously and fight furiously.
They looked at each other, baffled, in love and hate.
But I miss screamin' and fightin' And kissin' in the rain And it's two a.m. and I'm cursin' your name You're so in love that you act insane And that's the way I loved you.
She was a sea: and I had to swim in her.
He pulled himself out of hard times, dealt with the scars from it, pushed himself to make a mark. A little bit of the wild side there, always. I told myself, oh no, I won't get tangled up with this one. And I said it again, even when I was tangled up.
Was true love when you wanted to slap someone and kiss him madly at the same time?
She knew this man's smile, his gentle ways of love, but not his godlike fury in the storm. She might snare him in a fragile net of music, love and flowers, but, at each departure, he would break forth without, it seemed to her, the least regret.
Night of Sleepless Love The night above. We two. Full moon. I started to weep, you laughed. Your scorn was a god, my laments moments and doves in a chain. The night below. We two. Crystal of pain. You wept over great distances. My ache was a clutch of agonies over your sickly heart of sand. Dawn married us on the bed, our mouths to the frozen spout of unstaunched blood. The sun came through the shuttered balcony and the coral of life opened its branches over my shrouded heart.
I met Peter Sellers when I was 21 and we got married ten days later. He was not right mentally, but I hung in there for four years before I left.
Love is a war of lightning, and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
I want a trouble-maker for a lover, Blood spiller, blood drinker, a heart of flame, Who quarrels with the sky and fights with fate, Who burns like fire on the rushing sea.
I've been close to Bette Davis for thirty-eight years - and I have the cigarette burns to prove it.
I was in and out of Yes six times. Someone once likened it to Liz Taylor and Richard Burton's marriage where we couldn't live with or without each other. There's an element of truth, and I last left in 2005.
One day she's throwing a book at me. The next, we're making out behind the library.
