Classy Love Quotes

Be the girl you want your daughter to be. Be the girl you want your son to date. Be classy, be smart, be real, but most importantly be nice.

When a woman has truly embodied her sensuality, no labor is burdensome to her man. He finds great delight in making her happy no matter what.

That sassy low classy, but dress real cheap-fly-n-fancy, with a chip on her shoulder -- she's just a bitterly wounded dove, wanting to be sieged by love.

Sir, we're now introducing the love interest for Spider-Man." "Yes, just make sure it's organic. That it doesn't feel like it comes out of nowhere." "We had her fall on him, Sir." "Classy. I love it.

He tucks his hands on the back of my head and rests his mouth on my forehead. I close my eyes. “I could stand here forever,” he says. “In this place? This oh-so-classy motel room?” “That’s the thing. It don’t matter where.

Best Recipes from Eastern Europe” is not only a guide about how to cook, but also about how to decorate dishes in beautiful and unique ways. Let’s make our breakfasts or dinners look classy, lovely, unusual or funny; it will add bright feelings of joy and amazement to our being. Big happiness consists of small pleasant things—like these!

The other problem is that she hasn’t arrived.” “Oh, yeah? And who is she?” “Well, she is a remarkable, funny, classy woman who can say the word fuck without being trashy. She makes me laugh, is ambitious, loves me because I’m nice, not in spite of it, and is as nice in return. She is simply enchanting.” “Shooting for the stars there, aren’t you, pal?” “Shouldn’t we all?” I didn’t know anymore, although I utterly envied his romanticism.

A woman who feels sensual will always be the best version of herself.

Surely it was illegal for someone to look so classy and graceful having fallen asleep on train.

As Nic said, second-hand clothes were like day drinking, government handouts and having a lawyer: classy if you’re rich, proof you’re trash if you’re poor.

A young lady is supposed to be classy, kind, generous, and respectful. She is told she should not display any anger and/or badmouth her peers. A young lady is told to think ‘inside the box’ and to limit her expectations because her husband will provide for her in the future. A young lady is taught to never fuss or complain and to always keep a smile on her face. When a young lady speaks her mind, she is told that she is not acting “ladylike”. When a young lady steps out of her comfort zone to challenge herself to fight for what she wants, she is told she is not acting “ladylike”. When a young lady plays a sport, and at times she may be aggressive, she is told that she is not acting “ladylike” When a young lady is bossy, she is told to humble herself, because that is not acting “ladylike”. Maybe she isn’t bossy, maybe she is confident within herself, has high self-esteem and knows she can dare to be different.

I’m a classy bitch who happens to enjoy cursing and kid’s flicks.

The Cheesecake Factory remains successful because it’s fancy enough to seem classy, but silly enough to seem comfortably trashy.

The woman who understands the power of her sensuality inadvertently understands the nature a man. She therefore has no fear of other women snatching him away.

There is no lack of harmony in the relationship of a sensual couple. Problems arise when sensuality is neglected.

Amazing girls like precious gem! so classy always in style

We are women. We talk. We all do. I love to talk. It's my reason for being. No. It's my raison d'etre. Now that is fucking classy. Not everyone has one. A classy one. Anyway.

I love lamp.

Pretty is one word and she is many. Beautiful. Alluring. Appealing. Charming. Cute. Dazzling. Delicate. Delightful. Elegant. Exquisite. Fascinating. Fine. Gorgeous. Graceful. Lovely. Magnificent. Marvelous. Pleasing. Splendid. Stunning. Wonderful. Superb. Angelic. Bewitching. Classy. Divine. Excellent. Enticing. Foxy. Fair. Pulchritudinous. Radiant. Ravishing. Resplendent. Shapely. Beautiful.

I know, Mamá. But I already told you—” “You’ll look like a … frog but in heels.” Gee, thanks, Mother. I chuckled and shook my head. “It doesn’t matter because I’m wearing the red dress.” A gasp came through the line. “Ay. Why didn’t you tell me this before? You let me talk for half an hour about all your other options.” “I told you as soon as it came up. You just—” “Well, I must have let myself get carried away, cariño.” I opened my mouth to confirm that, but she didn’t give me the chance. “Perfect,” she cut in. “That is such a beautiful dress, Lina. It’s classy and flirty.” Flirty? What was that supposed to mean? “Your boobs will be entering the banquet before you.” Oh … oh. So, that was what she meant. “But the color does really flatter your skin, body shape, and face. Not like the frog dress.” “Thanks,” I muttered. “I don’t think I’ll ever wear green again.

Well, you’ll have to help me pick out the ring at least,” Daddy says. “Lara Jean has a better eye for that kind of thing,” Margot says serenely. “Besides, I barely know Ms. Rothschild. I haven’t a clue what kind of ring she’d like.” A shadow crosses over Daddy’s face. It’s the I barely know Ms. Rothschild that put it there. I rush to put on my best Hermione voice. “You ‘haven’t a clue’?” I tease. “P.S., did you know you’re still American, Gogo? We don’t talk as classy as that in America.” She laughs; we all do.

Letters blend to give rise to words  Like colors pave way for the birth of million shades! Evanescence reminisces sepia! Memory takes back to black and white! Music pops hot pink! Dance rocks wine red! Marvelous is miraculous as the indigo! Magnificent is magnanimous like Russian red! Splendid is classy like arctic blue! Resplendent inspires like  strawberry pink! Flamboyance is flowery like fuchsia! Flawless is perfect like flamingo! Extraordinary stands out like lime yellow! Peculiar is unique like cyan! Pleasant pleases like periwinkle! Soothing soothes like lemonade! Opulent glitters gold! Spectacular shimmers silver! Nice is as mild as dulce de leche! Attractive dazzles onyx! Powerful is headstrong like tangerine! Puissance stupefies like scarlet red! Mellifluence is dissolving, like lavender! Sonorous sounds magenta! Lovely cutely blushes! Sweet is peachy! Richness is wealthy like lush green! Poverty is brown as in flower wilt! Candid is frank as candy red! Altruism is selfless like parmesan! But, BEAUTY IS IRIDESCENT! Which

I have been with a hundred women, but never loved one until her. I could be with a thousand more and never find another Layana. She is beautiful, classy, but with a sharp edge that defines her personality, a thread of dark that complements all of her light. One that will cut you should you cross her. One that will fight for her wants, her needs, her opinions. She stares in my eyes and loves me with a vehemence all her own. A scary, passionate type of love. One that rips away all pretenses and allows us to love each other bare and without consequence.

Red rolls on the sand until her shoulder bumps into mine. She is laughing hysterically, and even though I keep a stoic face, I’m anything but. God, I fucking love this girl. “So…” She nuzzles into the crook of my neck, her arms flung over me. “Are you taking me to that fancy restaurant you booked for us last time we were in Miami?” “Hell no,” I snort. “That was before I realized you’re a McMeal kind of girl. I can treat you to a hot, sexy dinner date at Wendy’s if you’re up for it.” “Make it IHOP and you’re on. They have pancakes and hot chocolate.” “Classy girl. And I bet you’ll still put out afterwards.” “Damn right I will. I’m only using you for your body, Mr. Brennan.” “And for the cash. Don’t forget the cash.” “Nah, I make my own money, thank you very much.” She plants a kiss on my jaw, and I beam like an idiot, because she’s right.

Ravi buys all four of our tickets, which Peter is really impressed by. “Such a classy move,” he whispers to me as we sit down. Peter deftly maneuvers it so we’re sitting me, Peter, Ravi, Margot, so he can keep talking to him about soccer. Or football, as Ravi says. Margot gives me an amused look over their heads, and I can tell all the unpleasantness from before is forgotten. After the movie, Peter suggests we go for frozen custards. “Have you ever had frozen custard before?” he asks Ravi. “Never,” Ravi says. “It’s the best, Rav,” he says. “They make it homemade.” “Brilliant,” Ravi says. When the boys are in line, Margot says to me, “I think Peter’s in love--with my boyfriend,” and we both giggle. We’re still laughing when they get back to our table. Peter hands me my pralines and cream. “What’s so funny?” I just shake my head and dip my spoon into the custard.

If I was a cake, I would be incomplete unless I was a yellow sponge from Asia; frosted with brown chocolate from Americas; classy and elegant decorated with fresh white cream from Europe, and satin black fondant from Africa. I would be edible only if cooled in the Antarctica and served at a beach in Australia. No race in this world is superior to another but rather deficient without the other. Tolerance is not love but a chance to abolish any opportunity for hatred. Let’s keep baking in a joyful and tolerant manner.

Needless to say, cooking for a man with such a delicate palate can be challenging and every once in a while I like to make something that isn't served with a glass of milk and a side of applesauce. This can be difficult with a husband with such discriminating taste buds. Difficult, but not impossible, if you're willing to lie. Which I am.   During the winter months I love to make soups and one of my favorites is taco soup. It has all of the basic food groups in one bowl; meat, veggies, beans, and Fritos. It's perfection. I've been warming bodies and cleaning colons with this recipe for years. However, when I met my husband he advised he didn't like beans, so he couldn't eat taco soup. This was not the response I hoped for.   I decided to make it for him anyway. The first time I did I debated whether to add beans. I knew he wouldn't eat it if I did, but I also knew the beans were what gave it the strong flavor. I decided the only way to maintain the integrity of the soup was to sacrifice mine. I lied to him about the ingredients. Because my husband is not only picky but also observant, I knew I couldn't just dump the beans into the soup undetected. Rather, I had to go incognito. For that, I implored the use of the food processor, who was happy to accommodate after sitting in the cabinet untouched for years.   I dumped the cans of beans in the processor and pureed them into a paste. I then dumped the paste into the taco soup mixture, returning the food processor to the cabinet where it would sit untouched for another six months.   When it came time to eat, I dished out a heaping bowl of soup and handed it to my husband. We sat down to eat and I anxiously awaited his verdict, knowing he was eating a heaping bowl of deceit.   “This is delicious. What's in it?” he asked, in between mouthfuls of soup.   “It's just a mixture of taco ingredients,” I innocently replied, focusing on the layer of Fritos covering my bowl.   “Whatever it is, it's amazing,” he responded, quickly devouring each bite.   At that moment I wanted nothing more than to slap the spoon out of his hand and yell “That's beans, bitch!” However, I refrained because I'm classy (and because I didn't want to clean up the mess).

He laughed. “If you’ve been here for a while and now you’re doing shots, it’s going to be an easy win for my team of highly trained, entirely sober intellectual giants.” “Want to bet?” “Sure.” “Twenty dollars?” “Dinner.” Nina studied his face, but he wasn’t joking. “Dinner it is. If I win, you can take me to Denny’s.” “Really?” She nodded. “I love Denny’s.” “Moons Over My Hammy?” “Every time. And if you win?” “Chicken and waffles.” She laughed. “We’re a classy pair.” He nodded. “I wonder what else we have in common apart from lowbrow tastes?” He smiled slowly at her, and she had no comeback at all. She swallowed.

The only townsfolk who were not scared of the Burgundys were the Haggleworths. They were the only other prominent family in Haggleworth and because of their last name they felt they owned the whole town. It was nonsense of course. Shell Oil owned Haggleworth. (That’s why there was no real government or police or any order whatsoever. It was the reason why my father, a strict Darwinist, loved the town.) But the Haggleworths erected a museum in honor of their founding father. Some of them still practiced their pious religion of penis worship, but for the most part they were an uncultured, rangy bunch of derelicts who ate cat food and lived in caves.

When did all this happen?” Vaughn asked. “We met for drinks last Friday to discuss a criminal matter related to Sterling. Things progressed from there.” “Is that right?” Vaughn looked at him slyly. “Just how far did they progress?” “Still not comfortable talking about Brooke this way,” Huxley interjected. Cade held back a smile, grateful for the excuse to change the subject. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel like engaging in locker room talk about Brooke. “Huxley’s right. Try to keep it classy, Vaughn.” Vaughn studied him for a moment. Seven years they’d been best friends, and they knew each other well. “You like her.” Cade took a nonchalant sip of his beer. “Just watch the game.” “Evading the question,” Huxley said under his breath to Vaughn. “I think we got our answer, Agent Roberts.” “We sure did, Agent Huxley,” Vaughn said. Cade shook his head. He really needed to get some non-FBI friends.

And, should anyone here present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” Archbishop Callaghan said as he neared the end of the wedding ceremony. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” There wasn’t even a slight pause when a voice rang out from behind. “Grant! No! I love you!” Vanessa Bennet came running down the aisle, her eyes glazed over. She was also wearing a full-length wedding gown. “You can’t marry her! You love me.” “Cazzo!” Frankie rolled her eyes. “Hold this,” she shoved her bouquet at Grant and picked up her skirts, intending to give Vanessa a piece of her mind. Who the hell wears white to another woman’s wedding? Before Frankie could even began walking towards the aisle, Vanessa let out a pained shriek as a fist connected with her jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground. “You. Will. Not. Ruin. This. Day!” Callista declared, her voice edged with danger as she rubbed her fist. Alynna guffawed loudly from her seat on the groom’s side. “Wow. I guess Callista’s not too classy to smack a biatch either.

She walked slowly towards him, taking in how he looked so eerily still. “Okay you,” she said, her voice choked. “We have to have a talk. I know you’re a Dardano, but a wedding reception in the ICU? Not so classy.” She lowered her head, her attempt at levity falling flat under the weight of her heartbreak. She blinked back her tears and cupped his face. “You listen to me, okay? You are not leaving me. You’re not allowed. You’re going to fight, understand? Alessandro, I will not bury another husband. Do you hear me? I refuse to grieve for you. That is not even an option because you are my life.” She kissed his forehead, the beeping of the heart monitor and the respirators the only sounds in the room. “Funny huh? I spent so much time pushing you away and here I am begging you to stay. Not just for me, but for our boys. Will’s already lost one father, don’t you leave him too. And Gianni…don’t you dare leave him nothing but stories about some man in a picture frame.” Bree took his hand, rubbing his ring finger. “Please, Alessandro. Fight. I won’t survive without you. I won’t.” She kissed his palm. “We’ve fought too hard for you to just give up when we’re finally going to be happy. Dammit Alessandro, you owe me! You owe me a life, a happy life together. So don’t you dare die on me. Don’t you leave me to deal with that son of a bitch father of yours by myself.” She covered her mouth with her free hand to stifle her sobs. She leaned down and kissed his still mouth. “I love you…I love you so much…” Her tears fell on his face as she rested her forehead against his.

He frowned down at her. “You need to settle down and listen to me.” “You need to fuck off and—” She never got the next word out because he flipped her over on her stomach. While she cursed and tried to move him he tied her hands together with something, then wrapped some silky cloth around her head, forcing it between her lips. Bound and gagged, he moved her back over so she was on her back again. Beyond pissed, she struggled against her bindings, trying to get free so she could kill him. To her disgust he just grinned and watched her writhe on her mattress until she finally lay there in a sweaty, panting heap, with her hands still bound and her mouth still gaged. “Done with your tantrum?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Fuck you,” she said, or at least tried to say. It must have come through loud and clear because he smiled at her, a predatory smile that actually made her wet. Damn her hormones had bad taste and timing. He licked his lips and her pussy throbbed. “Oh, you’ll be begging me to fuck you by the time I’m done with you.” She glared, then rolled over on her stomach so she could flip him off with both bound hands. “See, this is why I love you. I love you, Amanda. You’re it for me. All I want, the only woman I want.” He leaned down and brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle touch. “Hold still and I’ll let you up. I’m sorry if I scared you.” “Wait,” she said in a garbled voice. “You love me?” He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, revealing his magnificent body an inch at a time. “That’s right, I love you. I love how brave you are, how smart, how classy and yet at the same time you can cuss up a blue streak. I love how you take care of me, how I’m the only one who gets to see the soft, feminine side of you that comes out when you make love. I love your temper, your kindness, and how you devour me with your eyes, like you want to eat me alive. Kind of like you’re doing right now.” “I don’t love you,” she mumbled through the gag. “Liar,” he whispered into her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue.

I love Las Vegas because it's the one city less classy than Los Angeles.

8. What do you call a classy fish? Sofishticated!

Although he was physically present, somehow it felt like he hadn't yet arrived; his great classy eyes were unseeing, his mind was unknowable, his soul - if such a thing exists - hung suspended elsewhere. I cared for his body, attended to his every need, felt wolfishly protective - but for the first six weeks, until he started to focus, smile, respond to my voice, have periods of waking that were not filled with howling anguish, i found it hard to know him. Let alone love him.

Fortunate is the man whose wife understands the value of her own sensuality.

When we appreciate the good in others, the good of others becomes our property. THE BOOK FEATURES: 1.There is Always a Tomorrow 2.The Hare and Tortoise 12 versions (c) 3.The Crayons of Personality 4.The Powerful First Impression 5.Public Speaking - A Million Dollar Idea 6.A Sense of Humor 7.Mind Power- The Giant Within 8.The Making of a Gentleman 9.The Classy Elegant Lady 10.How to Smell Good 11.Grooming and Dress Sense 12.Personal Hygiene 13.Good Manners and Etiquettes 14.Body Language 15.The Attractive Voice 16.Self-Discipline and Time Management 17.Woo, Persuade and Influence Others 18.The Magical Power of Love 19.Secrets of Personal Magnetism 20.A Healthy Lifestyle 21.Cosmetic Surgery Make Over's 22.The Self-Made Millionaire "Every next level of Your life will need a new version of you".

At the liquor store, we select a bottle of wine based on one very important factor: price. The cheaper the better. Then we head home, change into comfier clothes, pull out our plastic wineglasses (very classy), and start up a K-drama that we've been meaning to watch for ages. See? This is the great thing about being in your thirties, childless, and living with a roommate. You can do things like this, whereas Allison is probably wrangling her children into bed, trying to reason with them about monsters under the bed or similar.

Do I love Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass? Of course I do.

what a shame you are seeking approval from a society who loves to make women feel like they need its blessing to be bold classy powerful accomplished — and anything but a doormat that they can walk all over

Those classy bastards used platinum for me,” I mused. “Gotta love the dwarves. Do you know what these symbols are supposed to be?” “Those are your initials, sir,” the man informed me. “See? M and F.” I squinted, and now I could tell the strange platinum symbols did in fact spell out my initials. “Well, that’s badass, but it’s not exactly appropriate,” I muttered as I looked at the guy. “I mean, you’re not mine, you’re serving the Order of the Elementa at this point.” “Under your leadership,” the man countered. “I guess,” I allowed. Then I smirked. “You know, it could just as easily stand for Mother Fuckers.

My excitement about Sunday is unbridled. My heart constantly pounding. I dyed my hair pink. Then saw Leo’s face. Dyed it back. Borrowed Sadie’s lime-green-and-pink dress with orange trim. I feel a need to be bright and colorful and noticeable. Yet classy.

I swear to God, it’s like I don’t know you these last few months! First you accuse my cousin of rape, then you meet and get engaged to a guy that you just met, and now you’re saying my cousin is breaking into our apartment when he doesn’t even know where we live? Classy, Rach. You’ve turned into a real bitch.” I bent forward and exhaled roughly, as if she’d actually punched me. “Candice.” “And you know what pisses me off more? The fact that throughout all of this, all of this lying to me, all of this acting like you’re so in love with Kash and like you’re some fucking victim . . . you’re still dating Blake!” “Whoa, what?! I—no! Where did you hear that?” “He hates that you treat him like crap at school and that you’re hiding your relationship with him. He showed me all of your texts to him.” I shook my head furiously and attempted to swallow past the dryness in my throat. “I haven’t texted him since our dates at the end of last school year, Candice, I swear to you.” “I’m so done with this, Rachel. I’ve been waiting for you to just come clean to me, but for whatever reason, our friendship doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. But if you’re actually going to go through with this marriage to Kash, at least be respectful to my cousin and break it off with him. Nicely.” “Our friendship doesn’t mean anything to me?! You’re the one who won’t believe me and you’re the only family I have left!” She snorted and whirled around with her hand on the door. “And another thing. I’d love to know how you’ve been going between school, work, Kash, and Blake without Kash or me noticing. Share your secrets sometime, it could really come in handy for me, seeing as I’m the slut and all.” The door to her bedroom slammed shut and I stood there unmoving, just staring as I tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. How had this happened? How had he not only hurt me but hurt my relationship with Candice as well? I hated Blake West with every fiber of my being, and I hated what he’d done to my life. When

Three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun! Sassy and classy girls you can't stop admiring Oh yeah, three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun! Exquisite and enticing girls, you get captivated by, Oh yeah, three girls walking down the ramp Oh yeah, three girls who just wanna have some fun!

Let me start by saying a true sensual woman is a tastemaker. What do I mean by that? I mean she sets the standard of what is pleasurable, desirable, sophisticated, refined, intoxicating, elegant, classy, sexy, healthy, delicious, saucy. Women naturally possess the power to create ANY taste. "There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted" (Sun Tzu). The sensually awakened ones are cognisant of this and use it to their advantage while those who are not awakened often see it as some form of "female oppression." They say, "You're putting women under pressure." But what about men, Lebo? Well, men are not tastemakers like women are. Why? Because, unlike women, MEN CAN'T AND ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PLAY WITH THEIR INNER CHARACTER TOO MUCH. For instance, a man is essentially restricted only to pants. A man can’t wear a dress, high heels, lipstick and the list goes on. This limits a man from becoming a significant contributor in the tastemaking process of life and love, except financially of course. But it doesn’t limit a woman in any way, shape or form. Women can wear dressess, even men's pants, etc.. They can put on ANYTHING actually and still be celebrated. Marilyn Monroe wore a potatoe sack. Lady Gaga wore an infamous dress made of raw beef. That's why I believe being a woman is the greatest privilege of all. Marilyn Monroe said, "One of the best things that ever happened to me is that I'm a woman." Marilyn understood that women are THE REAL TASTEMAKERS IN LIFE and relationships, not men. BEING A MAN DOESN'T REQUIRE AS MUCH AMBITION AS BEING A WOMAN. Women are relationship navigators because they are naturally more ambitious than men. That's why again, Marilyn said, "Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition." Our ultimate quest as men, whether we realize it or not, is to live under a woman's spell. That makes us happy, and seem stupid at times. Sadly, most women are not sensually awakened enough to realize that. They don't know that the ultimate secret to keeping a man content with one woman lies in her sensuality.

True beauty is justified by the inside of the woman - not her looks on the outside! - (G Swiss)

Only an Atlanta girl could be so classy while doing something so hood. It was love-logic,