Getaway Love Quotes

The Babar the Elephant book is sitting in front of me. I pick it up and start reading it. I remember reading it as a small Boy and enjoying it and imagining that I was friends with Babar, his constant Companion during all of his adventures. He went to the moon, I went with him. He fought Tomb Raiders in Egypt, I fought alongside him. He rescued his elephant girlfriend from Ivory Hunters on the Savanna, I coordinated the getaway. I loved that goddamn Elephant and I loved being his friend. In a childhood full of unhappiness and rage, Babar is one of the few pleasant memories that I have. Me and Babar, kicking some motherfucking ass.

I think that what influences us in literature comes less from what we love and more from what we happen to pick up in moments when we are especially open.

Mostly I read at this hour, perusing the pile of books that live by my favourite chair, waiting to offer up fragments of learning, rather than inviting cover-to-cover pursuits. I browse a chapter here, a segment there, or hunt through an index for a matter that’s on my mind. I love such loose, exploratory reading. For once, I am not reading to escape; instead, having already made my getaway, I am able to roam through the extra space I’ve found, as restless and impatient as I like, revelling in the play of my own absorption. They say that we should dance like no one is watching. I think that applies to reading, too.

There is never a right time to break someone's heart. And anyone with even a microgram of sensitivity in his or her body will agonise for an age over that timing. Only problem is there is always some reason not to make someone unhappy. The day a relationship end, if that relationship was at all important to the suckers involved, becomes as important an anniversary as a wedding day or birthday. Obviously, the average person doesn't want to kick someone they once loved while that person is down.   It's not just hard times when someone is down that become obstacles to making your getaway. After times of bereavement, unemployment and general unhappiness, those events that should be happy ones also make some times off limits for the eager would- be dumper. Christmas, birthdays, Easter  all impossible. A clever person with a sensitive lover that they sense is not quite as into them as he or she used to be, could starve off the inevitable for years by carefully spacing out this crucial dates.

What I like about the job of being a novelist, and at the same time what I find so exhausting about it, is that it's the closest thing to being God you're ever going to get. All the decisions are yours. You decide when the sun comes up. You decide who gets to fall in love and who gets hit by a car. You have to make all the trees and all the leaves and then sew the leaves onto the trees. You make the entire world.

I always love the way everyone else seems to know what God is thinking. To me, it's more of a mystery.

I remember complaining one night on the phone to my mother that we spent too much of our time worrying about love and money. “Think of it as research,” she said. “That’s what everybody writes about.

He also starred in The Blob, The Magnificent Seven, The Great Escape, Love with a Proper Stranger, Nevada Smith, and The Sand Pebbles, for which he received an Academy Award nomination for Best Actor. Other features include, Le Mans, The Getaway, Towering Inferno, The Reivers, Tom Horn, The

I think that what influences us in literature comes less from what we love and more from what we happen to pick up in moments when we are especially open. For

Love isn’t logical or reasonable. Our hearts make no sense.

At least you love me," I say to my pet as I hold them against my chest as they try to getaway.

Watching him snap someone's neck as easily as lighting a cigarette made me dizzy with desire for him. And when he stabbed someone I could barely see straight until we'd made a successful getaway, and he'd trace a blade across my skin, making me come. I'd received more scars from acts of lovemaking than I had from my whole childhood, and I wasn't even eighteen yet.

They say your life flashes before you at the time of death, but for Clea, the lives were not hers, but her grandmother’s and her parents’. She thought of how they had loved her, of what a short time they had had together.

and sure enough, emmett's voice rose above the din. at some point, though, a mistake becomes a decision, whether you like it or not. in this, my husband and i were fundamentally different. in my opinion, a mistake required a getaway.

Carlos comes back with our drinks. “What should we drink to?” “To love,” says Brigitte. “To the few loyal customers I have left,” says Carlos. I have to think for a minute. “To the dead. Let’s think of them always, but not join them too soon.” Everyone in the bar drinks to that.

The thing to do is keep your cash in your mattress so in a jam you can grab it and escape out the window.”“That’s it,” Ayumi said, snapping her fingers. “Like in The Getaway. The Steve McQueen movie. A wad of bills and a shotgun. I love that kind of stuff.” It’s not much fun to live like that, Aomame

This is a time in which very few activities seem right. Mostly I read at this hour, perusing the pile of books that live by my favourite chair, waiting to offer up fragments of learning, rather than inviting cover-to-cover pursuits. I browse a chapter here, a segment there, or hunt through an index for a matter that’s on my mind. I love such loose, exploratory reading. For once, I am not reading to escape; instead, having already made my getaway, I am able to roam through the extra space I’ve found, as restless and impatient as I like, revelling in the play of my own absorption. They say that we should dance like no one is watching. I think that applies to reading, too.

And I wonder if people do this all the time: fall for people because of their ability to pick getaway cars; or fall for people because of the way they look when they think nobody is watching; or fall for people because of the things they say, or the way they look at them, or the things they give up, or the things they cannot do. -Alina Chase

Mary didn't know much about Mexican law, but she felt quite certain she could hold out in the crumbling village jail for a long, long time. She knew how strong she was. And she knew the difference between right and wrong. Above all, she knew how to defy the man she hated for making love to her until she let down all her defenses. Deceitful, dishonest, devastatingly seductive Max would never get her to give in again!

After that, the two of them seemed more in love than ever. There was more dancing. More hand - holding. More romantic weekend getaways. More of Dad saying things like, "Your mother has been a lot of people in the twenty years I've known her, and I've had a chance to fall in love with every single one of them, Janie. That's the key to marriage. You have to keep falling in love with every new version of each other, and it's the best feeling in the whole world.

The last morning I woke up with Lindsay, she was leaving on a camping trip to Kauai—a brief getaway with friends that I’d encouraged. We lay in bed and I held her too tightly, and when she asked with sleepy bewilderment why I was suddenly being so affectionate, I apologized. I told her how sorry I was for how busy I’d been, and that I was going to miss her—she was the best person I’d ever met in my life. She smiled, pecked me on the cheek, and then got up to pack. The moment she was out the door, I started crying, for the first time in years. I felt guilty about everything except what my government would accuse me of, and especially guilty about my tears, because I knew that my pain would be nothing compared to the pain I’d cause to the woman I loved, or to the hurt and confusion I’d cause my family.

I can’t get over the view. I spent most of the night sitting on the third-floor balcony watching the boats.” Don’t sing to them or they’ll crash on the rocks. The thought catches me off guard, but it sticks. I can picture her up there, dark hair flying around in the wind, beckoning to passing sailors. Will I ever get to see her up there? “You like the house?” I rasp. She shrugs one shoulder. And coming from Addison, that’s a resounding yes. “It reminds me of you.” Why am I holding my breath? “Does it?” “Mmmhmm. Old-fashioned and charming…” She squints at my backside. “With a big old kitchen.” The heat that weaves up my neck is humiliating, but I cough my way through it. I’m not sure if my usual embarrassment is at play, or if I’m remembering for the thousandth time how hard I came when she used that damn finger on me. Was it supposed to make me shake like a damn teenager? “It’s not polite to make ass jokes about your tour guide.” “Oh come on. You know I love that thing.

He could also be terrible romantic and thoughtful. My job was a real challenge. The work was difficult and the boss demanding: he thought nothing of calling or emailing at odd hours, even on the weekend; you ignored him at your peril. There was a point at which everything got to me. And it was exactly at that moment that Chris stepped in and planned a weekend getaway. He found a little cabin out in the woods where there was no cell phone reception-yes!-and without telling anyone, we made our getaway. Almost. I actually called the boss and told him my cell reception was giving out, and so I wouldn’t be able to check messages, something he expected even on the weekends. As soon as we got to the cabin, I headed to the bedroom. Inside, I opened my suitcase and changed into sexy white Victoria’s Secret-style lingerie, complete with corset and thigh-highs. Feeling a little shy and silly, I walked out and leaned against the doorway of the living room where he was sitting. “Hey!” “Yeah?” he mumbled from the couch, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. “Turn around,” I said. He turned around-slowly at first. But as soon as he caught sight of me in that lingerie, he hopped clear over the couch and chased me down the hall to the bedroom. I squealed and giggled the whole way.

She drove, not thinking about where she was going. There were fields to her right, a fence and a tree on a hill. One Tree Hill Farm, she knew. Brilliantly original name. As a rule the bucolic setting calmed her spirit, made her happy. They raised cattle, and normally had two sets of calves a year, one in the spring and again in the fall. She loved to drive by and see the babies trotting after their mothers, lowing for milk. It was one of the reasons they’d bought off of this road, because for a brief moment, Taylor felt like she was in the country driving to and from work. There were three vultures sitting on the fence posts, leering at a grouping of cattle. Taylor slowed, watching them, so out of place in her mind and her pastoral getaway. Vultures meant death. She glanced at the bulk of black and realized that it was a grouping of cows, each facing outward, protecting something at the center of their circle. She looked closer, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mind filled in the details. A

Their story was nothing like a romantic movie despite the epic crowd scene. Theirs was a tale of clumsy beginnings, quick getaways, and right when she thought a scary ending was inevitable, he’d managed to swoop in and let her save him. They were all the genres rolled into one.

Lake Haven hadn’t become a fashionable summer getaway for the East Coast elite until somewhere around the fifties, about the time Grandma and Grandpa had opened the East Beach Lake Cottages. The houses built on the lake since then had big windows and rooms set at angles designed to capture the best views. But Ross house had its own unique charm. Once you entered through the stone gate, you knew you were entering an area of wealth and refined taste. You’d expect to find the woman of the house in Ralph Lauren, perhaps on her way to a golf game. You would not expect to find Nancy Yates.

Showing someone you cared wasn’t always about surprise trips to Paris or spa getaways or a brand-new car with a bow on it. Sometimes it was about filling up their gas tank or making sure their favorite coffee never ran out.

He didn’t have much back then, but he always made sure I knew how much he adored me. It was little things, you know? Bringing me bouquets of wildflowers to the art gallery I worked at, booking little weekend getaways here and there. We’d go wine tasting, or to see Broadway shows. I’m not sure theater was Vince’s thing really, but he knew I loved it.

You have my heart. You have my soul. And you're the first and last person to ever have either one. I loved you first. And last. I've only got this feeling for you. No one else. Never.

Joy Reminiscing 15 MIN 1. Think of a joyful memory with your spouse from the previous year. 2 MIN 2. Before telling your story, write a few notes on the following details: 1 MIN My body: What was I feeling in my body? My emotions: What emotions were present? 3. While holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes, briefly tell your stories and include the above details. 6 MIN 4. When finished, take turns highlighting and validating the emotional content from the story your partner shared. 3 MIN EXAMPLE: Our weekend getaway to the beach was a special time for you as you were feeling encouraged. Our time together helped you rest and relax so your body felt peaceful and your shoulders were no longer tense. 5. Discuss what you noticed from this exercise, then close with quiet cuddling and resting together. 3 MIN

I’m learning that’s a lot of what love is—stepping aside for the sake of each other’s futures.

After all, I was on a romantic European getaway with my long-term boyfriend, who’d started as a client I hated before we gradually fell in love—only I’d been too stubborn to admit it—and I’d almost lost him before I came to my senses and reconciled with him at the top of the Empire State Building. Now we lived together in a town house with a pet fish and a rooftop movie theater, and we were nauseatingly, disgustingly blissful. Who said happily ever afters were unrealistic?

Time Enough to Die is the last of the Port novels and the first of Rabe’s final cluster of five excellent books. The second of these, My Lovely Executioner, is another total change of pace, and a fine absorbing novel.

Primer of Love [Lesson 37] It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving. ~ Mother Teresa Lesson 37) Give your lover surprising gifts spontaneously -- accompanied with a love note. A marketing survey showed the top five love gifts to be: a) a single red rose b) tropical getaway c) something from the heart that required extra special thought d) something handmade e) anything as long as it is a surprise Look, a) through d) are all footnotes to e). What makes it a gift special is not its cost but precisely the element of surprise. Breakfast in bed is sweet; your first candlelit dinner is bed, a gift. A cute teddy bear is sweet, a custom teddy bear that looks just like you, a gift. An unemployment check is sweet, a new job sweeter. Every gift should be accompanied by a personally written love note, poem or vulnerable sentiment -- none of that massed produced Hallmark crap.

said. A shiver of excitement wiggled through her. This was almost like sleuthing! They parked their bikes a few houses down from Annie’s. Then Nancy grabbed the love note and the granola bar from her bike basket. Nancy wished they had a fancy box of candy, the kind where each piece sat in a little pleated paper cup. But Bree kept insisting, “It’s the thought that counts.” Lickety-split they dashed down to Annie’s house. As they reached the porch, a dog inside started yapping like mad. They left the note and granola bar right by the front door. Then they made a quick getaway.

She was trying--for Carolyn, for herself, for her darling Mr. Darcy, she was trying to live this, and Martin’s presence had the effect of shining a light on how shallow it all was, besides reminding her of every guy who had tossed her aside. She was having a grand time and his judgment was souring the punch. She turned her shoulder to him and addressed Mr. Nobley. “Thank you, sir. Thus far the highlight of my stay has been making love to you.” Mr. Nobley bowed in acknowledgment. The conversation completely quieted. Jane thought she detected Martin sort of slump his shoulders. “Well, good night, all,” Jane said, and made a quick getaway to her room… …where she lay on her bed, stared at her canopy, and wished that encounter didn’t stick to her still, that she could just scrape it off her shoe. What would Martin have said if she’d let him speak? No, never mind, these things never end well. Wait, there had been something good, coiling on the edge of her memory…ah yes, Mr. Nobley had been about to kiss her. She closed her eyes and held to that moment as she would to the tatters of a really great dream in the waking gray of dawn.

My mouth was under attack but it felt like love, not war. It was a battle that wouldn’t have a victor because we both won as we took everything the other offered, and I knew we were both going to lose as soon as the sun came up in the morning and we had to officially say goodbye

There is a moment in conversation - and I wish it came more often - when we change gear; it is usually getting late, and somebody takes a risk. Gradually, intimate trust and relaxation have met; perhaps we have had a few glasses of wine ... We lean forward: ‘Here's how I *really* see life’; ‘To be completely honest, this is what I think.’ We have cut loose from complaint , from defence, from the clever display of information. Now it's what we love, what we hold dear; what it is like to be you. In pursuit of romance, this would be the moment when flirtation has succeeded: it is no longer a question of teasing and probing while keeping one eye on the exit. We know we do not need the getaway car any more. One life opens to another life.

Breitwieser vows that he isn’t seeking financial gain, and never steals with the intent of selling anything, not one piece. This too sets him apart from nearly any other art thief. Breitwieser has so little money that even on getaway drives he avoids paying highway tolls.

Took me a long time, a lot of years, to put the past where it belonged so it didn’t screw with my present every day anymore.” She looked over at him. “How’d you do it?” “I decided to focus only on what was right in front of me at that moment rather than putting it in the context of what’d happened before. Not sure that makes sense…” “No, it does, but I still don’t see how you can just do that.” “You make up your mind to look ahead, not back. There’s not one damned thing you can change about the past, but the future is yours to map out as you see fit.” “That sounds great, but how?” “You wake up every day with a choice about how you want to live. Do you want to be mired in a past you can’t change or focused on a future that you direct?” “You make it sound so simple.” “It is once you get the hang of it. You ever heard the saying that it takes three weeks to create a habit, whether it’s a good habit or a bad one?” “Yes, I’ve read about that.” “Usually, they’re talking about going to the gym or starting to walk or dieting or whatever. In this case, you wake up and decide to focus on all the positive things you can think of. You give them your full attention for all your waking hours. Whether it’s your work or your child or your garden or whatever brings you peace, pleasure and prosperity. I love my job. I love my studio and the people who work with me there. I love doing things to grow the business, such as partnering with the McCarthys to offer weekend getaways that include a tattoo. That was my idea, by the way. Brings in some business in the off-season. It gives me a kick to think of stuff like that. I love my art and my cross-stitching, my garden and puttering around my house. Those things bring me joy.

family doesn't have anything to do with shared genetics. DNA results do, but family is the people you have in your life who are safe, supportive, and love you. That's what matters.

It’s right here next to Tom, in the warmth of his hand in mine. It’s anywhere I want it to be. It’s in the family I know, and the ones that I found, and ones I don’t even know yet. It’s in the power to choose, one that I love testing the boundaries of every day.

There isn’t a single shooting star in the sky tonight, and I’m glad for it. I don’t need to ask for wishes now; I have choices all my own. Ones that will always be built on love, on hope, and on infinite, daunting, beautiful realms of possibility.

Almost like a waterfall gushing in-between my legs at this moment at this time. Kissing, loving, and creasing me like, as my mud-covered toes, as I sink them in the dirt. My legs are so weakly holding me upright, after standing so long.' 'Ultimately, the pounding rains get more powerful. Making me fall to the ground with a soft thud, now covered by the clay. Where I will remain until I feel that I can get up and over what has transpired from the day of hell I had and what has happened to me. That's if I can, like if I can accept this all, as I look down at me. I feel the dropping rain is weeping for me, like 'God’s tears, even after this I still believe in.' 'The pain triples within me also like the thoughts all at the same time, I start rolling around, like a pig in mud. I have the sensation like I have been ripped in two parts in my centered hips and vagina.' 'However, it is like it is all pounding down on me at once. I look, up to the sky, lying on my backside. It jostles me, the thought of what it is that I want to do… with myself to escape.' 'Even with all this rain. I feel that my vagina will surely never feel the same, or like it's clean again. It's all because of them!' 'No!' I scream. 'The rainwater can only wash away somewhat of what they have done to me. Never all of it… never- ever! It cannot wash away all my fears that I have. They have sucked my bean above the hole! Tugged on the hood, until I thought they would bite it off me completely. That is why I'm bleeding! Nevertheless, the school would not do anything about this, over I was the one that started it all; as the instigator.' 'They rubbed and touched me in all the places, yet this one the most. They ripped my black hole wide open, with their hateful fingernails and slashing teeth.' 'I cannot run away from them. They always find me! Always, I have nowhere to run or to hide!' 'I cannot stop them from fingering, stabbing, and sucking on me! My nipples are raw! They beat me up for enjoyment. Pledging with 'God' saying this has to stop. Yet it goes on every school day.' 'I must get away from them. I need to getaway! ('I just need to okay!') It is like these visions of what my life's existence about comes and goes away from me.' I see my life before I live it out in its entirety.' 'Sometimes, it's like I am black, I am not biased, bigoted, discriminatory, prejudiced, antiblack, and racialist, let's get that clear; yet this is the category, I was placed in, as a girl owned by man, that think I should never do anything more than be something like a worker in a field, as a slave to pay back my debts to be who I am to them in their hate.' 'The air that is around me now, is making my slit labia skin hurt with burn and sting. Burning hotter than a flame, before snuffed out! I know how a candle feels, struggling not to be blown out by the rushing air, or being snuffed out.' 'It's like they have a new addiction and that is the hole in my body that makes me a lady.' 'Just if you are wondering, I put my teddy in my backpack right after getting off the bus, after getting hazed by having him. after all, he is very significant to me.' 'I walk over to my bookbag, and see him down in their look at me, and find my one pink notebook. I open it to that one page I penned, the one that I have dogeared. 'There it is!' I say as I rip it out, it recollects the day.' 'The paper is jagged and wet, but I have an adieu note in my hand. I made it earlier in school, at lunch, when I was sitting alone; on this wrinkled up pink notebook paper. The black ink is running like a watercolor all over all my trembling, quivering, shivering, and childlike penmanship handwriting. All it has on it are all words that need to be said, about my existence in life, not living! Decidedly not.

To that end, NLP has distilled the entire state management process into two core elements, both of which are under a person’s conscious control. The first of these two elements is: What you choose to focus on. In essence, at any particular moment, you have the ability to choose the precise direction of your focus; and based on that choice, you’ll fall into a state that’s congruent with what you’ve chosen to focus on. For example, if you spend the next few minutes focusing on everything that’s great in your life—a recent business success, being in a loving relationship, the health of your children, a recent goal you achieved, a family getaway—then you’ll quickly pop into a positive,

Do you still like roast lamb? You always loved the way I cooked it, with lots of rosemary from the garden.” “And you’d make your mint sauce,” Clea said with a slight smile.

And falling in love was weak. Falling in love meant she was willing to get her heart broken. Falling in love meant she’d come home one day and find him gone, or see him kissing another woman, or even if it did work out, he’d leave her in a decade for someone better.

People who loved nature were different. Except for hunters. And maybe survivalists.

Really man? Now you’re the one calling the shots?” Willow had taken off his helmet and finally turned off the bike. “Bringing Robert here to be the getaway driver? If you’re looking for escalation this isn’t it, you prick. I call the shots and the rest fall in line. I love you brother, but this isn’t the move.” A door had opened loudly at the distant motel, an odd-looking fellow had stepped out of the kiosk and was walking briskly towards them, muttering to himself out of earshot. Willow had taken this for even more leverage against his outcrying subordinate, “It’s people like this,” pointing at the approaching motel employee, “That gets us locked up. If we get the cops called on us again, he is the first witness to see us with the car or even the kids if he starts yelling and gets them to come out.

...he looked at her as if he wanted nothing more than to get away. And she wanted nothing more than for him him to stay.

I love you," I say. "And I'm not telling you that so you'll change your mind. I'm telling you that so you never doubt it no matter how far you go. I'm telling you that because you are someone so easy to love that it kills me to think you've ever been made to think you're not. And I'm telling you that because I'm too selfish to keep it to myself.

Maybe I'm lonely, but I'm not alone in this. In feeling like there are things that you want to say to the people you love, but aren't ready to say them, or don't fully know how.

No matter how bad things got, she could always count on the fact God was in control. After all, her daughter was alive. She knew God would grant her peace and help calm her fears. That was what He loved to do with His children, the ones who believed in Him and looked to Him to supply their needs.

She’d need to find room in her compact kitchen for a high chair. Her second bedroom, which she now used as an office and craft room, would become the baby’s. A sense of excitement filled her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. This was her baby, her very own child. This time she’d do everything right. This time there wasn’t a man standing in the way. High on enthusiasm, she reached for the phone and dialed her sister’s number. She felt closer to Kelly than she had in years. The weekend getaway had brought them together again, all three of them. How wise her mother had been to arrange it. “I didn’t get you up, did I?” she asked when her sister answered. Tyler bellowed in the background. “That’s a joke, right?” Maryellen smiled. “You doing anything special for lunch?” “Nothing in particular. What do you have in mind?” “Can you meet me at the Pot Belly Deli?” “Sure.” Kelly had the luxury of being a stay-at-home mother. Paul and Kelly had waited years for this baby and were determined to make whatever sacrifices were necessary. That option—staying with her baby—wasn’t available to Maryellen. She’d have to find quality day care and wasn’t sure where to even start. Just before noon, Kelly arrived at the gallery, pushing Tyler in his stroller. At nine months, the little boy sat upright, waving his chubby hands, cooing happily and directing the world from his seat. “Let’s grab some soup from the deli and eat down by the waterfront,” Kelly suggested. It was a lovely spring day after a week of rain, and the fresh air would do them all good. “Sounds like a great idea,” Maryellen told her. Practical, too, since it would be easier to amuse Tyler at the park than in a crowded restaurant. Maryellen phoned in their order and her sister trekked down to grab a picnic table. Several other people had the same idea, but she’d secured a table for them by the time Maryellen got there. Sitting across from her sister, Maryellen opened her container of chicken rice soup and stirred it with a plastic spoon. Cantankerous seagulls circled overhead, squawking for a handout, but Maryellen and Kelly ignored them. “I

The place didn’t look much like a family dwelling, really. It looked like a rich man’s love nest, a secluded little getaway nestled back in the trees of the peninsula and safe from spying eyes. Or an ideal location for a novice sorcerer to come to try out his fledgling abilities, safe from interruptions. A good place for Victor Sells to set up shop and practice

Neve didn’t know why she’d bothered trying to shine some light on the darkest, most secret places of her psyche. In fact, she didn’t even know why she’d come to the pub to suffer this emotional abuse when she could have been tucked up on her sofa with a nice bowl of home-made vegetable soup and the new issue of the London Review of Books. She got to her feet and stuck out her hand in Max’s general direction. ‘It was nice to see you again but I really have to go now.’ ‘Oh, don’t be like that.’ Max took her hand but only so he could stroke her knuckles. ‘You really have to stop taking everything so personally. It must be exhausting.’ ‘Goodbye,’ Neve said sharply, removing her hand from Max’s grasp and snatching up bag, coat, scarf, hat and gloves, and wishing that it wasn’t winter because it was impossible to make a speedy getaway when you had so much cold-weather gear to put on first. ‘Tell Bridie to put your drinks on the Slater tab,’ she added, because God forbid that Max should think ill of her. Or more ill of her.

She said a romantic getaway is always a good idea after a spat.

What if I’m leading you out into the woods to kill you and dump your body?” “Morbid,” I mocked. “And I have to say if that’s the plan, then you’re fucked because your getaway plane just took off without you.” He chuckled, and I sighed. “Guess it would be a good way to go, then, at the hand of a man I love more than life itself.” There was a beat of immeasurable silence. “Killing you would be like killing myself.

What if I'm leading you out into the woods to kill you and dump your body?" "Morbid," I mocked, "And I have to say if that's the plan then you're fucked because your getaway plane just took off without you." He chuckled and I sighed. "Guess it would be a good way to go then—at the hand of a man I love more than life itself." There was a beat of immeasurable silence. "Killing you would be like killing myself.

Creating shared experiences and memorable moments is a powerful way to foster a deeper emotional connection. These shared adventures and quality time together reinforce the emotional bond. ●  Joint Adventures: Exploring new places, trying new activities, or embarking on adventures together can create lasting memories. These shared experiences offer excitement and deepen the sense of togetherness. ●  Travel and Exploration: Traveling as a couple opens the door to shared adventures, challenges, and discoveries. Whether it's a weekend getaway or an international expedition, traveling together strengthens your connection and creates lasting stories. ●  Cultural and Intellectual Pursuits: Engaging in cultural or intellectual activities, such as attending art exhibitions, concerts, or book readings, can spark meaningful conversations and emotional connection. It also allows you to explore shared interests. ●  Creating Traditions: Establishing traditions, whether celebrating holidays, anniversaries, or simple rituals like Sunday brunch or movie nights, creates a sense of continuity and shared history that strengthens emotional ties.