Cp Love Quotes

I love you so much, so incredibly much," he went on, "and I forget when you're close to me, I forget who you are. I forget that you're Jem's. I'd have to be the worst sort of person to think what I'm thinking right now. But I am thinking it.

Anyway, those things would not have lasted long. The experience of the years shows it to me. But Destiny arrived in some haste and stopped them. The beautiful life was brief. But how potent were the perfumes, On how splendid a bed we lay, To what sensual delight we gave our bodies. An echo of the days of pleasure, An echo of the days drew near me, A little of the fire of the youth of both of us, Again I took in my hands a letter, And I read and reread till the light was gone. And melancholy, I came out on the balcony Came out to change my thoughts at least by looking at A little of the city that I loved, A little movement on the street and in the shops. Translated by Rae Dalven

I’d been waiting for you to come along; I just didn’t know it until you smiled at me.

I have always enjoyed storytelling, especially narratives told through the voices of the African diaspora. Their influences are so diverse, so vast. I love incorporating elements of fiction and fantasy into their realities.

I want to be seen for who I really am, and loved for it anyway.

I can’t compete with your pain, angel. Your wounds are too deep for my love to reach. Too deep for my love to heal. You have to find a way past it.

He came to read; two or three books are lying open: history and poetry. But after just ten minutes of reading he lets them drop. There on the sofa he falls asleep. He truly is devoted to reading- but he is twenty-three years old, and very handsome. And just this afternoon, Eros surged within his perfect limbs and on his lips. Into his beautiful flesh came the heat of passion, and there was no foolish embarrassment about the form that pleasure took..

We were battered and bloodied. There were more bruises than orgasms and every second felt borrowed. Stolen. We were criminals. We were toxic. We were fearless for the last time. We were beautiful for the last time too.

He said he'd hurt himself against a wall or had fallen down. But there was probably some other reason for the wounded, the bandaged shoulder. With a rather abrupt gesture, reaching for a shelf to bring down some photographs he wanted to look at, the bandage came came undone and a little blood ran. I did it up again, taking my time over the binding; he wasn't in pain and I liked looking at the blood. It was a thing of my love, that blood. When he left, I found, in front of his chair, a bloody rag, part of the dressing, a rag to be thrown straight into the garbage; and I put it to my lips and kept it there a long while- the blood of love against my lips.

Though all the guns be silenced, each soldier in his home, There is no peace till Love comes, till the meek may safely roam.

Learn quickly, sugar . . . I will love you, fight with you, die for you, but I will also put your sweet ass over my knee if you run from me.

Vuelve a menudo y tómame, en la noche, cuando los labios y la piel recuerdan...

I haven't been reading you. I've been talking with you." William's mouth fell open. "You don't read everyone?" "Not unless I'm looking for something." "For the love of Pete, why not?" He tossed the dish towel on the counter. "We live in a dangerous world and you don't have the speed, strength, or reflexes of a shifter. You must use all weapons at your disposal at all times in order to keep yourself safe.

If still wanting him, knowing the pain loving this version of him might bring me, made me an unapologetic sadist, then so be it. I’d do bad things with a clear head to have him. And then I’d do them all over again if it meant I got to have him in the next life,

Our family was starting. We kept on moving with our young lives, shortly afterward and took Ben Young with us everywhere. But pretty soon Pegi started noticing that Ben was not doing the things some other babies were doing. Pegi was wondering if something was wrong. She was young, and nothing had ever gone wrong in her life. People told us kids grow at different rates and do things at different times. But as Ben reached six months old, we found ourselves sitting in a doctor's office. He glanced at us and offhandedly said, "Of course. Ben has cerebral palsy." I was in shock. I walked around in a for for weeks. I couldn't fathom how I had fathered two children with a rare condition that was not supposed to be hereditary, with tow different mothers. I was so angry and confused inside, projecting scenarios in my mind where people said something bad about Ben or Zeke and I would just attack them, going wild. Luckily that never did happen, but there was a root of instability inside me for a while. Although it mellowed with time, I carried that feeling around for years. Eventually Pegi and I, wanting to have another child after Ben, went to se an expert of the subject. That was Pegi's idea. Always organized and methodical in her approach to problems, Pegi planned an approach to our dilemma with her very high intelligence. We both loved children but were a little gun-shy about having another, to say the least. After evaluating our situation and our children, the doctor told us that probably Zeke dis not actually have CP-he likely had suffered a stroke in utero. The symptoms are very similar. Pegi and I weighed this information. To know someone like her and to make a decision about a subject as important as this with her was a gift beyond anything I have ever experienced. It was her idea, and she had guided us to this point. We made a decision together to go forward and have another child.

On hearing about powerful love, respond, be moved like an aesthete. Only, fortunate as you’ve been, remember how much your imagination created for you. This first, and then the rest—the lesser loves— that you experienced and enjoyed in your life: the more real and tangible. Of loves like these you were not deprived — C.P. Cavafy, “Hearing of Love,” Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley & Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. (Princeton University Press 1992)

You told me once you weren’t the person I thought you were, but you’re wrong. You’ve just forgotten who that man is. You’re walking alone through life, Shane. If you’d given me a chance, I would have tried to be your anchor, to keep you grounded, given you a reason to live. You could have breathed me in, even when it hurts to breathe, and I would have helped you heal,” I cried out. “You could have found love so profound it stopped time in the face of it—that’s what I would have given to you if you’d been brave enough to try.

He was a big, rather clumsy man, with a substantial bay window that started in the middle of the chest. I should guess that he was less muscular than at first sight he looked. He had large staring blue eyes and a damp and pendulous lower lip. He didn't look in the least like an intellectual. Creative people of his abundant kind never do, of course, but all the talk of Rutherford looking like a farmer was unperceptive nonsense. His was really the kind of face and physique that often goes with great weight of character and gifts. It could easily have been the soma of a great writer. As he talked to his companions in the streets, his voice was three times as loud as any of theirs, and his accent was bizarre…. It was part of his nature that, stupendous as his work was, he should consider it 10 per cent more so. It was also part of his nature that, quite without acting, he should behave constantly as though he were 10 per cent larger than life. Worldly success? He loved every minute of it: flattery, titles, the company of the high official world...But there was that mysterious diffidence behind it all. He hated the faintest suspicion of being patronized, even when he was a world figure. Archbishop Lang was once tactless enough to suggest that he supposed a famous scientist had no time for reading. Rutherford immediately felt that he was being regarded as an ignorant roughneck. He produced a formidable list of his last month’s reading. Then, half innocently, half malevolently: "And what do you manage to read, your Grice?" I am afraid", said the Archbishop, somewhat out of his depth, "that a man in my position doesn't really have the leisure..." Ah yes, your Grice," said Rutherford in triumph, "it must be a dog's life! It must be a dog's life!

For at this stage in our youth we can hold two kinds of anticipation of love, which seem contradictory and yet coexist and reinforce each other. We can dream delicately because even to imagine it is to touch one of the most sacred of our hopes, of searching for the other part of ourselves, of the other being who will make us whole, of the ultimate and transfiguring union. At the same time we can gloat over any woman, become insatiably curious about the brute facts of the pleasures which we are then learning or which are just to come. In that phase we are coarse and naked, and anyone who has forgotten his youth will judge that we are too tangled with the flesh ever to forget ourselves in the ecstasy of romantic love. But in fact, at this stage in one's youth, the coarseness and nakedness, the sexual preoccupations, the gloating over delights to come, are - in the secret heart where they take place - themselves romantic. They are a promise of joy.

My momma used to tell me that every action in this life touches someone. How we choose to live our lives is the difference between touchin’ someone with the hand of God or the hand of the devil. I’d say walkin’ away from someone you care about is about as far away from God’s love as one can go.

one is dreadfully vulnerable through those one loves’.

I’d save my mommy issues for my mid-life crisis.

There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God's finger on man's shoulder — Charles Morgan

Sometimes you can love someone but not fit with them. It’s the way of the world. And really, there’s no one true person for anyone, despite what the telly might have you believe. There’s a whole host of people who’d line up just fine.

Birth, life, and death coexist in balance and everyone has a choice on how to navigate them. If you’re lucky, sometimes during the living you get to experience euphoria so blinding it takes your breath away, and sometimes, during the living you lie to rest those who are your world, darkening that blinding light. How you choose to do the living during your short magical ride called life is your choice. I, for one, choose to live my life loving.

She loved her womanly curves; they spoke of a good life filled with children and heaps of food that filled her soul so she could give it back to others.

The memory of anyone one had truly loved stayed distinct always and with a special fragrance, quite unaffected by the years. And the memory of one’s deepest friendships had a touch of the same magic. But

If you really love each other, you can find a way around anything.

This isn't love, Clint. Then what is it? Poison

I love every single part of you, Lucas Blacke. Even the parts I hate.

There was nothing I would not have done to get you out of that sanctuary. You understand that, right?" "Yes." I pulled his fingers to my lips and kissed him back. "I knew you'd come for me. You always do." "Neely, I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. Stop talking dirty." A surprised laugh bubbled out of me. "I love you." "Good. Now let me heal the headache.

I love how the sun looks when it rises around you, when it makes room for you.

Your wounds are too deep for my love to reach. Too deep for my love to heal.

My love loves me, and all the wonders I see; A rainbow shines in my window; my love loves me. — “Plaisir

We can't all be painting church ceilings. If you love what you do, you're sorted. Money is just a number. Happiness is uncountable.

Mr. Darcy…sir,” she stammered, the words so urgent that they tumbled over each other in her mind, forcing her to start over. “Mr. Darcy…you…you must allow me to say how much I…I admire you…and…and love you!

You were always big on doing what you love, and not what anyone wanted of you. I used to want to be just like you. Still do.

I’ll love and support you through anything, Jasper. Or die trying.

Why do we do this to each other? Why can’t we trust anyone anymore?” “Because it is just life. It’s the way things are. We just have to pick ourselves up, and move on. But somewhere out there I really believe that there is an ideal soul-mate for each of us that we will meet one day and fall in love with. It’s just a matter of time. But en-route, we will have a few crashes, get burned a little. It’s inevitable. We just have to make it our duty to survive and get over all the crap that gets in our way, because we owe it to that other person in the future to

She always loved the things the rest of the world forgot. The snails and slugs and broken flowers. I think that’s why she loved me. I was just another broken thing that the world left behind.

Everyone in the front office would grab hold of the papers on their desks to keep them from flying away as she blew in like a budding storm. Then I would think, my mom’s a badass. Embarrassing, but still a badass.

Hair the color of a raven’s wing, eyes the color of glaciers,” he’d said to me more than once, stroking a hand over my widow’s peak, making love to me like I was his possession

His jaw tightened. "I was asked to stay behind until you were … compliant." "Hope you packed a lunch," I said, more out of habit than anything. I supposed this meant I was a natural smart ass. Lucas would love to hear me admit that.