I can’t do it, Gideon! I can’t make out the way you kiss me one moment and then act as if you loathed me like poison the next!” Gideon said, after a brief pause, “I’d much rather be kissing you the whole time than loathing you, but you don’t exactly make it easy for me.
I spent the rest of the day doing little more than that. I skipped dinner. I shed a few tears. But mostly, I just sat on my bed thinking and growing more and more depressed. I also discovered the only thing worse than imagining Dimitri and Tasha together was remembering when he and I had been together. He would never touch me again like that, never kiss me again.
Catelyn wanted to run to him, to kiss his sweet brow, to wrap him in her arms so tightly that he would never come to harm.
The musician and the listener. If this is love between two strangers watching each other from afar, that rough, burning moment when you rush in and kiss is the show.
I turn around from the window and for the first time I see him... It is Richard, smiling at my surprise. I run to him, without thinking what I am doing. I run to the first friendly face that I have seen since Christmas, and in a moment I am in his arms and he is holding me tightly and kissing my face, my closed eyes, my smiling mouth, kissing me till I am breathless and have to pull away from him.
The bargain…” she mumbled. “You said I could kiss you,” came his gentle, wicked whisper near her ear. “But, my love…you didn’t specify where.
He's been out for a while," she said. "You ready to take a break?" Hopper could exist in this living form or be transformed into a small statue, which helped avoid uncomfortable questions when people came by. Only she could transform him though. "Yeah. He keeps trying to eat my paints. And I don't want him to watch me kiss you goodbye.
As long as Kline doesn't kiss you." The warning was clear in his voice. "Same goes." "If he kisses me, he's getting decked." I laughed. "You know what I meant.
His fingers leave streaks of cold on my skin, invisible to the eye, and I think about wrapping his shirt around my fist and pulling him in to kiss me; I think about pressing myself against him, but I can't, because all our secrets would keep a space between us.
I loved you when you opened like a lily to the heat; you see I’m just another snowman standing in the rain and sleet who loved you with his frozen love, his second hand physique, with all he is and all he was a thousand kisses deep.
I woke up this morning,” Gabriel said, “thinking of nothing more than rolling over and pulling you into my arms and kissing you again. Kissing: only kissing. As if I were a green boy of fourteen. In case you don’t realize it, Kate, kissing is not a man’s usual inclination in the morning.
See," he said, "the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life.
I'm sorry. It's Hard for me. I do love you," she said quietly. "Sometimes it scares me because you're the first. And the only" He held her there until he was sure he could speak, then eased her back, looked into her eyes "You've chaged my life. Become my life." He touched his lips to hers, let the kiss deepen slowly, silkily. "I need you
You can kiss me if you like," she said. Alex let go of her and turned away. "Thanks, Fiona," he said. "But frankly I'd prefer to kiss the horse.
How do you know it won't be duels at dawn when you tell him you've accepted my proposal of marriage?" "Don't be ridiculous. He's not that hotheaded. Though I daresay he may try to...er...knock some sense into you. He and Jarret. And possibly Gabe." "Our bargain is looking better and better all the time," he said drily. "I get to fight the Sharpe men while you stand around pretending to care." He came close enough to whisper, "I will definitely require a few kisses of you if that comes to pass, minx." -Giles and Minerva
Jason, stop this,” she pleaded. “You don’t want to kiss me. You don’t even like me more than a little when you aren’t foxed” A harsh laugh escaped him. “I like you too damned much!” he whispered bitterly, then pulled her head down and captured her lips in a demaning, scalding kiss that took everything and give nothing in return.
The kiss lasted forever as Otto Frank kept talking from behind me. "And my conclusion is," he said, "since I had been in very good terms with Anne, that most parents don't know really their children.
No one really needs me,” he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice...“I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss.
And now she was just Gabby, currently staying in a dreamy, magnificent castle in Scotland with a Fae prince who did all kinds of non-nasty, non-inhuman things like tearing up lists of names, and returning tadpoles to lakes, and saving people's lives. Not to mention kissing with all the otherwordly splendor of a horny angel.
Kisses were better than potions.
The most attractive are not those who allow us to kiss them at once [we soon feel ungrateful] or those who never allow us to kiss them [we soon forget them], but those who coyly lead us between the two extremes.
I'm scared to die," I whispered as Michael walked in. "He was scared to live," he said kissing my forehead.
This is the story of the curse and the kiss, the demon and the girl. It's a love story with dancing and death in it, and singing and souls and shadows reeled out on kite strings.
She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already kissing her. She had kissed him so many times—soft gentle kisses, hard and desperate ones, brief brushes of the lips that said good-bye, and kisses that seemed to go on for hours—and this was no different. The way the memory of someone who had once lived in a house might linger even after they were gone, like a sort of psychic imprint, her body remembered Jace. Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands.
The loved object is simply one that has shared an experience at the same moment of time, narcissistically; and the desire to be near the beloved object is at first not due to the idea of possessing it, but simply to let the two experiences compare themselves, like reflections in different mirrors. All this may precede the first look, kiss, or touch; precede ambition, pride, or envy; precede the first declarations which mark the turning point—for from here love degenerates into habit, possession, and back to loneliness.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: