All Quotes By Tag: Romance

“Sometimes it feels like even ifEvery inch of my skin was touching yoursI still wouldn’t be close enough to you.”

“What’s your source of inner peace? asked the Imam today at the Friday Prayer. I smiled wide instantly and whispered, ‘Knowing that she is mine’.”

“In the deepest, darkest depths of her heart where she kept all her dreams locked up in a pink journal decorated with ponies and unicorns, she’d fantasized about declaring her love for Sasha Karimi for two years. In those scenarios, he generally fell to his knees in thrilled delight before he reciprocated the feelings and then they got married and had lots of babies and maybe a pet iguana and lived happily ever after.”

“Were you born with all your organs intact?” he responds.I can’t see his face, so I have no way of knowing where he’s going with this question.“Yes …” I say cautiously.“Good,” he responds, “then I expect you to use the one beneath your skull.”Damn. That insult burned a little.”

“So he was queer, E.M. Forster. It wasn’t his middle name (that would be ‘Morgan’), but it was his orientation, his romping pleasure, his half-secret, his romantic passion. In the long-suppressed novel Maurice the title character blurts out his truth, ‘I’m an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort.’ It must have felt that way when Forster came of sexual age in the last years of the 19th century: seriously risky and dangerously blurt-able. The public cry had caught Wilde, exposed and arrested him, broken him in prison. He was one face of anxiety to Forster; his mother was another. As long as she lived (and they lived together until she died, when he was 66), he couldn’t let her know.”

“No one ever tells you how much a heartbreak physically hurts. How it literally feels like you’ve been kicked down the stairs. How you can’t swallow. How every muscle aches. How your heart lurches inside you like it’s been poisoned. Nobody tells you that.”

“I can’t. I w-want y-you, my own fucking twin!”

“What exactly did having needs mean, while he was on the subject? That Delaney needed to have sex? that she craved an orgasm? And if that were the case, why couldn’t she just take care of the matter on her won in the privacy of her home without putting him through all this torture? Anything was preferable to the thought of her being with Jake.”

“We fell asleep as lovers do, listening to the raindrops pitter-patter on the old tin roof, hands entwined and souls secretly smiling.”

“What the hell was going on, why did I care, and why, oh why, did I not carry a pocket rocket in my purse? My girlie bits were still on fire, screaming for release after Mr. Sex God’s orgasmic touch.”

“She’d rather make love to him then watch any movie. “We don’t have to. Did I do something wrong?”That made him turn to her. “Of course not.”“Oh. Then don’t you want to…” She trailed off, a blush rising.“Are you kidding me? More than anything.” His expression softened. “But, Maira, I don’t want to rush you, make you do something you aren’t ready for.”She stared at him. He was so pretty. Was he also stone-cold stupid?How could he think she wasn’t ready for it? She’d already thrown herself at him. Twice now, if he counted the kitchen disaster.”

“He heard the voice that had called to him in dreams, had saved him from the sands and from following his brother into the river.”

“Pedersen was always wooing her. Sometimes he was gracious and kind, but at other times when his failure wearied him he would be cruel and sardonic, with a suggestive tongue whose vice would have scourged her were it not that Marie was impervious, or too deeply inured to mind it. She always grinned at him and fobbed him off with pleasantries, whether he was amorous or acrid.’God Almighty,’ he would groan, ‘she is not good for me, this Marie. What can I do for her? She is burning me alive and the Skaggerack could not quench me, not all of it. The devil! What can I do with this? Some day I shall smash her across the eyes, yes, across the eyes.’So you see the man really loved her.(“The Tiger”)”

“Caine usually woke from the recurring dream mid-air, having yet to be dashed upon the rocks, whimpering and panting like a child crying for his mother. Now he lifted his eyes to a dark, empty room in Jizan and the unusual, lingering scent of roses, and wept in his hands for his Father.”

“She was a little thing, too, inciting that basic compulsion in him as a man to protect her in so hectic a place as post-war Israel. Even so, his actions were borne out of an entirely different instinct, altogether: to fool her and anyone within a dart’s range… to protect himself.”