Kisses Goodnight Quotes

HOBBES: If you don't get a goodnight kiss you get Kafka dreams.

Everyone winds up kissing the wrong person goodnight.

You’re the only one I kiss goodnight.

Alex rolls his eyes. 'For fuck's sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night.

and then you stopped. And looked at me. And I knew then exactly what was going to happen. You kissed me, yes. But it was not just goodnight. Even then, I could feel the promise in it. The promise that you would kiss me just like that, forever.

But when they kissed goodnight in bed, Therese felt their sudden release, that leap of response in both of them, as if their bodies were of some materials which put together inevitably created desire.

What do you want, Mal?" The room seemed very quiet. "Don't ask me that." "Why not?" "Because it can't be." "I want to hear it anyway." He blew out a long breath. "Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina." "No." "You need an army. You need a crown." "I do." He laughed then. "I know I'm supposed to say something noble--I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again." He gave a rueful shake of his head. "But I guess I'm the same selfish ass I've always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man's name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can't give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

Just friends? Alright friend we won’t kiss goodnight, and I won’t hold you tight and wish that you were mine just for one night. I will separate my dreams from my eyes, separate my heart from my spine, keep clean the lines between my hands and your innards.

Everybody winds up kissing the wrong person goodnight.

Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky, Won't you sing your song to Earth as she passes by? Your sweetest silver melody, a rhythm and a ryme, A lullaby of pleasant dreams as you make your climb. Send the forests off to bed, the mountains tuck in tight, Rock the ocean gently, and the deserts kiss goodnight. Sweet Crescent Moon, up in the sky, You sing your song so sweetly after sunshine passes by.

It all just depends on the person you're with. If you can look at that person and know without a doubt that you want to spend the rest of your life kissing them goodnight and waking up next to them, marriage is for you.

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight just a touch in the fire burning so bright no I don't wanna mess this thing up I don't wanna push too far just a shot in the dark that you just might be the one I've been waiting for my whole life but baby I'm alright with just a kiss goodnight

That sucks. He can ask you out and take you to dinner and try to steal a goodnight kiss. He can go as far into it as you’ll let him take you. And I can’t even compete.

Warmth slid through my veins as my body tensed in a welcomed, delicious way. My eyes fluttered shut as his lips brushed mine once and then twice, as if he was getting reacquainted with the feel of them. The slight, barely there touch was nerve racking. Cam shifted his weight onto his left arm and with his other hand, he spread his fingers along my cheek. He placed a kiss to the corner of my lips and the other side before sliding his hand back around the nape of my neck. His lips moved along my jaw, trailing a fiery path to my ear. A shiver danced along my skin, eliciting a deep, husky chuckle from him. His lips pressed against the sensitive spot under my ear, and a moan crawled up my throat. “Goodnight, Avery.” And then he kissed me—kissed me like he’d had right before he’d left the night of our date. Kissed me like he was a man starving for oxygen and I was the only air he needed to breathe. The hand around my neck held me there, raised up on my elbows as his mouth devoured mine. And that was the only word I could use to accurately explained how he kissed me. Cam devoured me.

A kiss-goodnight Can last for hours Moaning into your mouth Licking the sweetness Of my lips Biting softly Holding on To the taste of yours Never wanting To let go Asking you To kiss me forever Asking the goodnight-kiss To become A kiss-good-morning A kiss-I-love-you An entwined faith Of two souls Becoming one In a single moment's kiss...

And darling, I hope your remember to kiss the ghosts goodnight. They are only older versions of you that you have had to discard and forget.

She's sweet but too apocalyptic. You try kissing someone good-night who's just told you for the umpteenth time that the world's experiencing its last disgusting paroxysm before Rapture.

A species in which everyone was General Patton would not succeed, any more than would a race in which everyone was Vincent van Gogh. I prefer to think that the planet needs athletes, philosophers, sex symbols, painters, scientists; it needs the warmhearted, the hardhearted, the coldhearted, and the weakhearted. It needs those who can devote their lives to studying how many droplets of water are secreted by the salivary glands of dogs under which circumstances, and it needs those who can capture the passing impression of cherry blossoms in a fourteen-syllable poem or devote twenty-five pages to the dissection of a small boy's feelings as he lies in bed in the dark waiting for his mother to kiss him goodnight...

I am your good-night kiss; you are my I love you.

And then she is kissing me, right here on the sidewalk on a foggy summer night. Violet is kissing me, and everything is perfect. The kiss doesn't end. We are not two girls on a polite first date, bestowing a customary good-night peck. No. We are kissing like girls who have ached for each other for years who never even spoke but somehow exchanged I love yous anyway.

You kissed me yes, But it was not just goodnight even then I could feel the promise in it. The promise that you could kiss me like that forever.

I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.” “Then don’t.” I raised a brow. “If I go with you, I might not be able to resist kissing you again.” “Oh, I’m counting on it.” She grinned. “Get in.

There were moments - when Jeopardy came on, in the car during radio trivia challenges, or for practically any question I couldn't answer in any subject - that Rogerson simply amazed me. I started to seek out facts, just to stump him, but it never worked. He was that sharp. "In physics," I sprung on him as we sat in the Taco Bell drive-through, "what does the capital letter W stand for?" "Energy," he said, handing me my burrito. Sitting in front of my parents' house as he kissed me goodnight: "Which two planets are almost identical in size?" "Duh," he said, smoothing my hair back, "Venus and Earth." "Rogerson," I asked him sweetly as we sat watching a video in the pool house, "where would I find the pelagic zone?" "In the open sea," he said. "Now shut up and eat your Junior Mints.

The steel door of the incinerator went up and the muted hum of the eternal fire became a red roaring. The heat lunged out at them like a famished beast. Then Rahel's Ammu was fed to it. Her hair, her skin, her smile. Her voice. They way she used Kipling to love her children before putting them to bed: We be of one blood, though and I. Her goodnight kiss. The way she held their faces steady with one hand (squashed-cheeked, fish-mouthed) while she parted and combed their hair with the other. The way she held knickers out for Rahel to climb into. Left leg, right leg. All this was fed to the beast, and it was satisfied. She was their Ammu and their Baba and she had loved them Double.

It's always the chest of the other person we lean back against for support, we only really feel supported or backed up when, as the latter verb itself indicates, there's someone behind us, someone we perhaps cannot even see and who covers our back with their chest, so close it almost brushes our back and in the end always does, and at times, that someone places a hand on our shoulder, a hand to calm us and also to hold us. That's how most married people and most couples sleep or think they sleep, the two turn to the same side when they say goodnight, so that one has his or her back to the other throughout the whole night, when he or she wakes up startled from a nightmare, or is unable to get to sleep, or is suffering from a fever or feels alone and abandoned in the darkness, they have only to turn round and see before them the face of the person protecting them, the person who will let themselves be kissed on any part of the face that is kissable (nose, eyes and mouth; chin, forehead and cheeks, the whole face) or perhaps, half-asleep, will place a hand on their shoulder to calm them, or to hold them, or even to cling to them.

A man and wife should see the best in each other, should work together, should enjoy each other.

The moon embalms me with her love and she kisses me good night. The nightingale sings her song of love when I take rest in the arms of darkness in the night!

I once thought the three most important words in creation were ‘whatever proved necessary,’” he said. “And now?” she gasped against his mouth. “Now I know I was wrong. The three most important words in creation are ‘I love you

I would have kissed her goodnight, but it was six in the morning.

I can't live without the sun shining down on my face, and I can't dream without the stars kissing me goodnight.

Where are we going?” Thomas asked, still feeling the weight of seeing those walls close, thinking about the maze, the confusion, the fear. He hold himself to stop or he’d drive himself crazy. Trying to grasp a sense of normalcy, he made a weak attempt at a joke. “If you’re looking for a goodnight kiss, forget it.

She kisses the children goodnight, leaving lipstick on their foreheads and a trail of Chanel No.5.

Don't you believe I love you? Don't know how I can make you believe. I didn't want to kiss you goodbye--that was the trouble--I wanted to kiss you goodnight. […] Of course I love you. I love you all the time. […] I'd like to hold you and kiss you so that you wouldn't doubt whether I wanted to or not.

[W]hen Ben was kissing me, the whole world retreated. I felt things I'd never felt before, in places I never knew were connected. But I was pretty sure that whatever was buzzing against my thigh was not normal. For one thing, it was ringing. Ben dragged his mouth away from mine and mumbled a curse that was a little shocking and kind of hot. "Ignore it," he said. That was easy for him to say when his cell phone was rounding third base. If anyone got a home run tonight, I didn't want it to be Verizon Wireless.

The bitter scratch of his unshaven good-night kiss will always, for me, be the sensation of grief.

Of course we have a Tomorrow on the map…located east of Today and west of Yesterday…and we have no end of "times" in fairyland. Spring-time, long time, short time, new-moon time, good-night time, next time…but no last time, because that is too sad a time for fairyland; old time, young time…because if there is an old time there ought to be a young time, too; mountain time…because that has such a fascinating sound; night-time and day-time…but no bed-time or school-time; Christmas-time; no only time, because that also is too sad…but lost time, because it is so nice to find it; some time, good time, fast time, slow time, half-past kissing-time, going-home time, and time immemorial…which is one of the most beautiful phrases in the world.

It astounds him that the tiny life of the girl means more to him than all the millennia before it. He struggles to make sense of his emotions – how he can feel both tenderness and unease when she kisses him goodnight, or presents a grazed knee for him to kiss better with the magic power that only a parent has.For Isabel, too, he is torn between the desire he feels for her, the love, and the sense that he cannot breathe. The two sensations grate at one another, unresolved.

He finally pulled it all back into his heart, sucking in the painful tide of his misery. In the Glade, Chuck had become a symbol for him—a beacon that somehow they could make everything right again in the world. Sleep in beds. Get kissed goodnight. Have bacon and eggs for breakfast, go to a real school. Be happy. But now Chuck was gone. And his limp body, to which Thomas still clung, seemed a cold talisman—that not only would those dreams of a hopeful future never come to pass, but that life had never been that way in the first place. That even in escape, dreary days lay ahead. A life of sorrow. His returning memories were sketchy at best. But not much good floated in the muck. Thomas reeled in the pain, locked it somewhere deep inside him. He did it for Teresa. For Newt and Minho. Whatever darkness awaited them, they’d be together, and that was all that mattered right then.

Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Anything?” I turned to face him, as he stepped inside. “No water, no tea, but there is one thing I’d like before I go to sleep,” I purred, taking a few steps his way. “What’s that?” “Goodnight kiss?” His eyes darkened. “Oh, hell, is that all? That I can do.” He closed the distance between us and slipped his arms easily around my waist.

There are moments in history that seem like a mist, as if what really happens matters less that what should have happened. The mists lift suddenly and there we are, my good parents and their good children, their grateful children who phone for no reason but to talk, say their good-nights with a kiss, and look forward to home on the holidays. I see how, in a family like mine, love doesn't have to be earned and it can't be lost. Just for a moment I see us that way; I see us all. Restored and repaired. Reunited. Refulgent.

For an age we stood there like that, me holding him by the collar of his jacket and kissing him for all I was worth, him standing there, hands up like I was frisking him with no idea what to do about it. It. Was. Awesome.

Everything looks better at a distance. If you made it up, you have to live it down. Everything is compost. There is no they—only us. It’s a mistake to believe everything you think. You can get used to anything. Sometimes things are just as bad as they seem. It helps if you always have somebody to kiss goodnight.

I just want a soft creature with shiny eyes to lay with in the dark, the glint of her eyes reflected back at mine, a last few whispers, a kiss goodnight, to calm me down but most of all … to make me feel alive when morning shines.

Gmorning and a kiss on every letter in your blessed name Gnight and a kiss on every letter in your blessed name

I’m sitting down here, trying to talk myself out of going into your room and giving the teenage piece of ass living in my house a really long kiss goodnight.

Rosalind: “Elias told me that you met with your uncle this morning. Whatever did he say to put you in such a bad temper?” Christopher: “Do you really want to know?” Rosalind: “Of course I do.” Christopher: “He told me to seduce you.” Rosalind: “How strange. That's exactly what my grandfather told me to do to you.” She bobbed a curtsy “Goodnight. Sir Christopher.

We ate, did our homework, got good grades, kissed our parents goodnight and always had the secret door and shared experiences to go to. It was truly remarkable, and doing it as a group made us feel invulnerable. As soon as the drums and amps were set up and Jean and Kathie hit it, I tell you there was nothing more to say. Conversation stopped, and the magic carpet ride took off. I’ve never felt anything more powerful in my life.

The nights were advantageous, too. After they kissed their families goodnight, it was expected that they would share a bed, their bodies close, their movements obscured under the covers.

Every boring slice of domesticity, the grocery shopping, the endless errands and chores, the accusations—Did you move my . . .?—these moments made up our life, and I’d wished them gone. I hadn’t understood the tenderness of climbing into bed with you after a stretched-thin day. Of pulling the comforter down and sliding in beside you. Of falling into a dream before we could properly kiss goodnight, but knowing the kiss was still there, hovering between us.

When Graciela was finally ready for bed, Jenny waited while the kid knelt and basically offered up the same prayer as she did every night. Jenny made a face during the blessing of the cousins, and she spoke the last words in unison with Graciela. "And strike Jenny dead, amen." We don't need to suggest ways and means, all right? We can leave the details of my demise to God. Now, go to sleep." She sighed when Graciela lifted her cheek for a kiss. She didn't think she would ever get accustomed to death wishes being followed by a good-night kiss.

You may have an occasion to be traveling in southern Maine yourself one of these days. Pretty part of the countryside. You may even stop by Tookey's Bar for a drink. Nice place. They kept the name just the same. So have your drink, and then my advice to you is to keep right on moving north. Whatever you do, don't go up that road to Jerusalem's Lot. Especially not after dark. There's a little girl somewhere out there. And I think she's still waiting for her good-night kiss.

Him: Confession: I deleted all the 1 Direction from your iPod when u were in the can. You’re welcome. Me: WHAT?? I’m going to kiss u! Him: With tongue? It takes me a second to realize what happened, at which point I’m completely mortified. 'Me: Kill u! I meant KILL u. Damn autocorrect. Him: Surrrrrre. Let’s blame it on autocorrect. Me: Shut it. Him: I think someone wants to kiss me… Me: Goodnight, Graham. Him: U sure you don’t want to come back here? Give our tongues some exercise? Me: Ew. Never. Him: Uh-huh. PS—check your email. I sent u a zip file of music. Actual music. Me: Which will be going straight to my trash folder.

There are men who put the weight of a coffin into their deliberations as they bargain for Cashmere shawls for their wives, as they go up the staircase of a theatre, or think of going to the Bouffons, or of setting up a carriage; who are murderers in thought when dear ones, with the irresistable charm of innocence, hold up childish foreheads to be kissed with a ‘Good-night, father!’ Hourly they meet the gaze of eyes they would fain close forever, eyes that still open each morning to the light. . . God alone knows the number of those who are parricides in thought

Smiling victoriously, he crushed me against his chest and kissed me again. This time, the kiss was bolder and playful. I ran my hands from his powerful shoulders, up to his neck, and pressed him close to me. When he pulled away, his face brightened with an enthusiastic smile. He scooped me up and spun me around the room, laughing. When I was thoroughly dizzy, he sobered and touched his forehead to mine. Shyly, I reached out to touch his face, exploring the angles of his cheeks and lips with my fingertips. He leaned into my touch like the tiger did. I laughed softly and ran my hands up into his hair, brushing it away from his forehead, loving the silky feel of it. I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t expect a first kiss to be so…life altering. In a few brief moments, the rule book of my universe had been rewritten. Suddenly I was a brand new person. I was as fragile as a newborn, and I worried that the deeper I allowed the relationship to progress, the worse that the deeper I allowed the relationship to progress, the worse it would be if Ren left. What would become of us? There was no way to know, and I realized what a breakable and delicate thing a heart was. No wonder I’d kept mine locked away. He was oblivious to my negative thoughts, and I tried to push them into the back of my mind and enjoy the moment with him. Setting me down, he briefly kissed me again and pressed soft kisses along my hairline and neck. Then, he gathered me into a warm embrace and just held me close. Stroking my hair while caressing my neck, he whispered soft words in his native language. After several moments, he sighed, kissed my cheek, and nudged me toward the bed. “Get some sleep, Kelsey. We both need some.” After one last caress on my cheek with the back of his fingers, he changed into his tiger form and lay down on the mat beside my bed. I climbed into bed, settled under my quilt, and leaned over to stroke his head. Tucking my other arm under my cheek, I softly said, “Goodnight, Ren.” He rubbed his head against my hand, leaned into it, and purred quietly. Then he put his head on his paws and closed his eyes. Mae West, a famous vaudeville actress, once said, “A man’s kiss is his signature.” I grinned to myself. If that was true, then Ren’s signature was the John Hancock of kisses.

Each time you kiss your child goodnight, he contends, you should specifically consider the possibility that she might die tomorrow. This is jarring advice that might strike any parent as horrifying, but Epictetus is adamant: the practice will make you love her all the more, while simultaneously reducing the shock should that awful eventuality ever come to pass.

Was it right to kiss his mother or wrong to kiss his mother? What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like that to say goodnight and then his mother put her face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?

Back in 'my day' – though I didn't claim ownership of it at the time, this is what used to happen: you met a girl, you were attracted to her, you tried to ingratiate yourself, you would invite her to a couple of social events – for instance the pub – and then ask her out on her own, then again, and after a goodnight kiss of variable heat, you were somehow, officially, 'going out' with her. Only when you were semi-publicly committed did you discover what her sexual policy might be. And sometimes this meant her body would be as tightly guarded as a fisheries exclusion zone.

Upturned face. Parted lips. The good-night kiss he couldn’t leave without. Only, Megan’s lips were stiff and unyielding. She didn’t pull away. It might almost have been better if she had. Instead, she’d allowed the kiss to occur, taking it with the same cool detachment offered in her words.

I throw my arms around him and lift my chin expectantly, waiting for my good-night kiss. He nuzzles his face against mine, and I feel gladness for the fact that he has smooth cheeks and barely even needs to shave. I close my eyes, breathe him in, wait for my kiss. And he plants a chaste peck on my forehead. “Good night, Covey.” My eyes fly open. “That’s all I get?” Smugly he says, “You said earlier that I’m not that good at kissing, remember?” “I was kidding!” He winks at me as he hops in his car. I watch him drive away. Even after a whole year of being together, it can still feel so new. To love a boy, to have him love you back. It feels miraculous. I don’t go inside right away. Just in case he comes back. Hands on my hips, I wait a full twenty seconds before I turn toward the front steps, which is when his car comes peeling back down our street and stops right in front of our house. Peter sticks his head out the window. “All right then,” he calls out. “Let’s practice.” I run back to his car, I pull him toward me by his shirt, and angle my face against his— and then I push him away and run backward, laughing, my hair whipping around my face. “Covey!” he yells. “That’s what you get!” I call back gleefully. “See you on the bus tomorrow!

A species in which everyone was General Patton would not succeed, any more than would a race in which everyone was Vincent van Gogh. I prefer to think that the planet needs athletes, philosophers, sex symbols, painters, scientists; it needs the warmhearted, the hardhearted, the coldhearted, and the weakhearted. It needs those who can devote their lives to studying how many droplets of water are secreted by the salivary glands of dogs under which circumstances, and it needs those who can capture the passing impression of cherry blossoms in a fourteen-syllable poem or devote twenty-five pages to the dissection of a small boy’s feelings as he lies in bed in the dark waiting for his mother to kiss him goodnight.… Indeed the presence of outstanding strengths presupposes that energy needed in other areas has been channeled away from them. —ALLEN SHAWN

I won’t kiss you again. I don’t want to be that person, the one you resent. If you break your vows, you should do it for yourself, not for anyone else.” She inclined her head. “Goodnight, Magnus.

Sleepy, I kissed the juncture of his collarbone, and we said goodnight as my heart ached the way it normally did with the power of what I felt. All combined, it was a magnificent feeling. But it was also a little inexplicable. Somehow, it worried me, the intensity of that feeling. The fear beneath it.” Excerpt From: Nicolaie, Alexandra. “Sublimation.” iBooks. This material may be protected by copyright.

Perhaps it was the demands of having to take on me and the farm that left so little time for the gentler things. Such small things: a kiss goodnight, a word of affection... a child can starve with a full plate.

He wanted to know when he was going to kiss the same person goodnight when the lights went out and then hello again the next morning when the sun came up. He wanted to know how he was ever going to make that happen.

There are moments when history and memory seem like a mist, as if what really happened matters less than what should have happened. The mist lifts and suddenly there we are, my good parents and their good children, their grateful children who phone for no reason but to talk, say their good-nights with a kiss, and look forward to home on the holidays. I see how, in a family like mine, love doesn’t have to be earned and it can’t be lost.

Miracle was thinking she'd finally fallen in love, for the first time and maybe the last, with someone who may or may not be around for very long. Hardy was thinking he'd found someone that made his past and his future not matter quite so much, someone who gave him a present that eclipsed everything else. But there was a chance he might lose her. Later, when he kissed her goodnight, it was a kiss full of promise, a kiss that said he'd be around forever, however long forever ended up being.

I love a man who tickles me awake with reality, and kisses me goodnight with fiction Braids my hair with simplicity to compliment my contradiction And calms the waging wars inside with a simple boyish look For he is as much a mystery as he is an open book When I am at my worst, I am beautiful by his side He draws me in yet keeps me free, the moon to my tide He relishes my quirks and antics just as much I love to keep him frantic And if I ever fall, he doesn’t catch me right away Because he knows I’ll glide And even more so, knows how much I enjoy the ride… With the strength I lack, he holds my insecurity safe in-between his fingers And if there is ever a doubt while I am out running about His steady grip lingers He drives me crazy just as much as he keeps me sane And has the wisdom to keep me wild knowing I’ll die if ever tame So when I am far, he frets not, because he knows he’s my favorite destination If ever I am down, he joins me on the ground and points out my favorite constellations He catches my sighs and lackluster replies With ageless humor and tenacity I draw blanks at his capacity And challenge his audacity But He wins because despite my stubbornness he is persistent Yet forever fails because he belongs to nonexistent

When the children were ready to go to bed, Katie did something very unusual. It was unusual because she was not a demonstrative woman. She held the children close to her and kissed them goodnight. "From now on" she said ,"I am your mother and your father.

John Watson, a leading childcare authority in the 1920s, sternly advised parents, ‘Never hug and kiss [your children], never let them sit in your lap. If you must, kiss them once on the forehead when they say goodnight. Shake hands with them in the morning.’22

I think I'll say goodnight here," Jack said. "My dad's not so bad." "Oh yeah,he was great...right up until the time I started dating his daughter." I'd seen how my dad had become considerably colder toward Jack. There were little clues,like the other evening when out of nowhere he told Jack about how every football player he went to high school with had gotten fat after graduation.We'd been talking about what to make for dinner. "Okay," I said. "Maybe next time." I leaned over to peck him on the cheek, but he grabbed my face in both of his hands and kissed me. His breath tasted like the mints the chaperones had passed out when the dance was over, and when he parted his lips against mine, I shivered, but not because of the cold. I pressed against him even more and hoped the dark inside the car obscured my dad's view. But I knew better than to push it.As I was about to break away,Jack put his hands behind my waist and pulled me even closer,practically lifting me over the center console,so I was sitting in his lap. I pulled back. "My dad's going to love that-" He put his finger over my lips, cutting me off. "Please don't talk about your dad when I'm kissing you. Besides, unless he's enacted a law against it-" "Which he may well do after tonight," I interrupted. He smiled and then brought my face to his again for a few moments before finally releasing me. "After that kiss,we'd better dream of the same thing tonight," he said with a smirk. My face got even warmer,but I tried to speak in a calm voice. "I'll probably dream my usual dream,where I show up to school without any clothes on." "Me too." Jack chuckled.I gave his shoulder a playful shove.

A species in which everyone was General Patton would not succeed, any more than would a race in which everyone was Vincent van Gogh. I prefer to think that the planet needs athletes, philosophers, sex symbols, painters, scientists; it needs the warmhearted, the hardhearted, the coldhearted, and the weakhearted. It needs those who can devote their lives to studying how many droplets of water are secreted by the salivary glands of dogs under which circumstances, and it needs those who can capture the passing impression of cherry blossoms in a fourteen-syllable poem or devote twenty-five pages to the dissection of a small boy’s feelings as he lies in bed in the dark waiting for his mother to kiss him goodnight.… Indeed the presence of outstanding strengths presupposes that energy needed in other areas has been channeled away from them.

Words are the residue that I was there, that I loved my wife, that I kissed my children goodnight, that I sacrificed my life for them. Words are a curse. Life is a curse. Words escape life. Life escapes words. What in God's name am I? How does someone name a God? What is it to name yourself?

Thanks for driving me home, Mason. And for dinner. And…everything.” “You’re welcome.” His hand cupped my shoulder, his face in the shadows. “Was this a date?” “No.” His smile was a slash of white in the darkness. “Then you’re not expecting me to kiss you good-night.” “No.” I smiled back. “Too bad.

I was backed against the sink; Emile was close, warm, his eyes glittering, his mouth sensuous and lovely. "You," I said deliberately, "don't give a damn about me except physically." Any boy would deny that; any gallant boy; any gallant lier. But Emile shook me, his voice was urgent, "You know, you shouldn't have said that. You know? You know? The truth always hurts." (Even clichés can come in handy.) He grinned, "Don't be bitter; I'm not. Come away from the sink, and watch." He stepped back, drawing me toward him, slapping my stomach away, he kissed me long and sweetly. At last he let go. "There," he said with a quiet smile. "The truth doesn't always hurt, does it?" And so we left. It was pouring rain. In the car he put his arm around me, his head against mine, and we watched the streetlights coming at us, blurred and fluid in the watery dark. As we ran up the walk in the rain, as he came in and had a drink of water, as he kissed me goodnight, I knew that something in me wanted him, for what I'm not sure: He drinks, he smokes, he's Catholic, he runs around with one girl after another, and yet... I wanted him. "I don't have to tell you it's been nice," I said at the door. "It's been marvelous," he smiled. "I'll call you. Take care." And he was gone. So the rain comes down hard outside my room, and like Eddie Cohen," I say, "... fifteen thousand years - - - of what? We're still nothing but animals." Somewhere, in his room, Emile lies, about to sleep, listening to the rain. God only knows what he's thinking.

...And you, behind the footlight's lure, Kissing an actress on the stage, Will leave her presence there, I'm sure, As I my people on the page. And yet - I love you, darling, yet I sat with someone at a table And gloried in our minds that met As sometimes strangers' minds are able To leap the bounds of times and spaces And find, in sharing wine and bread And light in one another's faces And in the words that each has said An intercourse so intimate It shook me deeply, to the core. I said good-night, for it was late; We parted at my hotel door And I went in, turned down the bed And took my bath and thought of you...

I walked him to the door. “Is there anything else you want me to do? Check your mail? Water your plants?” “My mail is being forwarded to my lawyer. And I’m watering my own plants.” “So, you feel safe in the Batcave?” The corners of his mouth curved into the hint of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed me at the base of my neck, just above my T-shirt collar. “Sweet dreams.” Before he left, he said good-night to Grandma, who was still in the kitchen. “What a nice, polite young man,” Grandma said. “And he’s got an excellent package.” I went straight to her closet, found the bottle of booze, and dumped some into my cocoa.

Without looking at him, I said, “Mal, tell me about the tattoo.” He was silent for a time. Finally, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “It’s an oath in old Ravkan.” “But why take on that mark?” “This time he didn’t blush or turn away. “It’s a promise to be better than I was,” he said. “It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, at least I can be a weapon in your hand.” He shrugged. “And I guess it’s a reminder that wanting and deserving aren’t the same thing.” “What do you want, Mal?” The room seemed very quiet. “Don’t ask me that.” “Why not?” “Because it can’t be.” “I want to hear it anyway.” He blew out a long breath. “Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina.” “No.” “You need an army. You need a crown.” “I do.” He laughed then. “I know I’m supposed to say something noble—I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “But I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.

I’m about to hop out when Peter reaches across me and stops me from opening the door. “Give me my good-night kiss,” he says. I laugh. “Peter! I have to go.” Stubbornly he closes his eyes and waits, and I lean forward and plant a quick kiss on his lips. “There. Satisfied?” “No.” He kisses me again like we have all the time in the world and says, “What would happen if I came back after everyone went to sleep, and I spent the night, and left really early in the morning? Like, before dawn?” Smiling, I say, “You can’t, so we’ll never know.” “But what if?” “My dad would kill me.” “No, he wouldn’t.” “He’d kill you.” “No, he wouldn’t.” “No, he wouldn’t,” I agree. “But he’d be pretty disappointed in me. And he’d be mad at you.” “Only if we got caught,” Peter says, but it’s halfhearted. He won’t risk it either. He’s too careful about staying in my dad’s good graces. “You know what I’m really looking forward to the most?” He gives my braid a tug before saying, “Not having to say good night. I hate saying good night.” “Me too,” I say. “I can’t wait until we’re at college.” “Me too,” I say, and I kiss him one more time before jumping out of the car and running toward my house.

He took my hand, gave me a quick kiss, and led me to the front porch where my parents had left the light on. “I had a really nice time,” I said with a very serious face. He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, me, too. Maybe we could go out again sometime.” I almost burst out laughing. “I’d like that.” “Good night, Dani,” he said quietly. Then he took me in his arms and gave me a good-night kiss to remember.

Do you feel this?” he growls over my lips as he pushes me into the sink. The thick, hard ridge of his cock nudges my ass, and I groan. “This is what you’re doing to me, Tiernan. It’s not right. Instead of pile-driving the hot tits and ass I came home with, I’m sitting down here, trying to talk myself out of going into your room and giving the teenage piece of ass living in my house a really long kiss goodnight.

Feelings of a Pimp They think I was a player because I was devoted to the game They thought I worked hard on my offense to break down these women’s defenses just to score They think it’s the body count that made me manipulate them into my arms to get between their legs They think I’m satisfied with a different woman in my bed every night When during the day, even my bed can feel the loneliness They think I love the easy women They think it’s for the cool points that my heart grew cold They think they have me figured out Another dog chasing after every female dog in the streets They think I’m happy with all the texting buddies, but no wife But they don’t know They don’t know how tired I am of this, how tired I am of myself How tired I am of living like this How tired I am of these games, but that’s the only way I can score with a chick They don’t know how after sleeping with these ladies, I wish I had more chemistry with at least one of them to cuddle, to give goodnight kisses and wake up beside They don’t know how loneliness consumes me With a phone filled with women’s numbers, I still feel unwanted and unworthy They don’t know these easy women make it easy for me to feel confident about myself; although it’s the wrong type of confidence I feel validated by them, I feel accomplished, I feel loved although I’m having sex with them, not making love They don’t know how tired I am of chasing fool’s gold Chasing fast women who would sleep with me in a heartbeat Leaving me with the empty feeling I felt before I started the chase The player in me is played out. I just want love, but that’s the only thing I can’t seem to find So, I keep pimping in hope of finding love Her insecurities were beautiful They opened the door for me as an opportunist She was the perfect candidate Oh so sweet, but oh so hurt How smart would I be if I didn’t capitalize? Some fellas get women drunk and have their way with them I was doing nothing wrong but pretending to be prince charming, just to get the same results I became what they needed emotionally I was the shoulder to cry on, the ear to listen to, the one person who understood I was a smooth criminal manipulating the innocent Did not feel an ounce of guilt because I was weak myself I was insecure I couldn’t help preying on vulnerable women In their weakness I found strength I was a coward, a “wannabe” player I was playing the wrong games, winning the wrong prizes The truth is, no strong man takes advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. It is a trait of the weak. Diary of a Weak Man

I have to go." He nodded, pulled me close to him and kissed me ever so tenderly again but this time on the mouth. I stared at him in awe; my lips trembled as I was jolted by the impact of his warm lips upon mine. I had just received my first kiss, and it had been so delightfully sweet and uplifting. It had been everything I’d ever dreamed it would be, even on that hideously bleak night, and it had been with him. "Goodnight Cade.

Detached gibbous moonlight, Befalls me, Lying still on a sandy hill, In a place far from home. Home, where your warm hands, Once embraced me, Where you suckled me at birth, And kissed me goodnight, Where I once played as a child. Now bereft and solitary, I lie still far away, In a foreign field of sand, They'll bring me home To you soon, To lay me down In an earthen chamber, Beneath a green patch, Close to you, so close, Far from the guns of war.

After I kiss you goodbye, I hold your smile in my cupped hands. I keep my fingers tight, careful not to let it slip out. While I walk home, I tuck it into my shirt pocket, keeping it safe from the cold breeze. I feel its warmth there, through the fabric of my clothing thumping like a heartbeat. In the mirror, I retrieve it carefully, and raise it to my mouth. I press my lips against it softly, and in that moment, Your smile stretches across my face.

My dear girl, would you care to explain how all of this came about?” King Garron asked, with a concerned tone. “The usual way Father. Is that not what you said to me when I asked how you and Lady Ellos came to be involved? I am happy for you Father, I wish you to be happy for me as well. Goodnight, I am glad to be home,” Laurel said in a quiet but resolute voice, as she kissed her father and Phineas goodnight and walked up the stairs. “I honestly do not know what to say Phineas,” King Garron spoke in a defeated tone, as he watched Laurel walk out of sight. “There is nothing to say Sire. Your daughter has grown up, and captured the heart of her Prince,” Phineas replied with a warm smile, putting his hand on King Garron’s shoulder. “She will hold the Heart of Heathwin. I will be damned, Milna was right,” King Garron said in a whisper, his eyes filling with tears, at remembering something his beloved late wife had told him.

Of course, no china--however intricate and inviting--was as seductive as my fiancé, my future husband, who continued to eat me alive with one glance from his icy-blue eyes. Who greeted me not at the door of his house when I arrived almost every night of the week, but at my car. Who welcomed me not with a pat on the arm or even a hug but with an all-enveloping, all-encompassing embrace. Whose good-night kisses began the moment I arrived, not hours later when it was time to go home.

Before I go, please tell me one thing." The candlelight flickered amber in her eyes. "Yes?" He licked his lips and glanced toward the coveted, yet sacrosanct bedchamber. "I would like to know the given name of the woman who can kiss me so passionately she makes me want to climb to the rooftops and roar." Her cheeks turned the color of her mantle and she grasped the latch. "Jane," she whispered. "Well then." He stepped in and touched his lips to her forehead, "Goodnight, Lady Jane.

You’re beautiful,” he told me. “I think you are, too.” “Goodnight, Freckles.” He kissed me on the forehead, his lips lingering, and then he pulled away. I caught his arm as he turned. “Holt?” “Anything,” was his reply. Butterflies erupted in my belly. “Will you sleep with me?” He glanced inside his room at the bed, then back at me. “Only if you promise not to try to take advantage of me.” He widened his eyes like he was somehow scandalized. I laughed. “Please. You’d like it.” “You’re damn right.

You’re missing the whole point, by the way.” “What’s the whole point, Peter?” He clears his throat. “That day in McClaren’s basement. You were my first kiss too.” Abruptly I stop laughing. “I was?” “Yeah.” I stare at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I don’t know. I guess I forgot. Also it’s embarrassing that I made up a girl. Don’t tell anybody!” I’m filled with a glowy kind of wonder. So I was Peter Kavinsky’s first kiss. How perfectly wonderful! I throw my arms around him and lift my chin expectantly, waiting for my good-night kiss. He nuzzles his face against mine, and I feel gladness for the fact that he has smooth cheeks and barely even needs to shave. I close my eyes, breathe him in, wait for my kiss. And he plants a chaste peck on my forehead. “Good night, Covey.” My eyes fly open. “That’s all I get?” Smugly he says, “You said earlier that I’m not that good at kissing, remember?” “I was kidding!” He winks at me as he hops in his car. I watch him drive away. Even after a whole year of being together, it can still feel so new. To love a boy, to have him love you back. It feels miraculous. I don’t go inside right away. Just in case he comes back. Hands on my hips, I wait a full twenty seconds before I turn toward the front steps, which is when his car comes peeling back down our street and stops right in front of our house. Peter sticks his head out the window. “All right then,” he calls out. “Let’s practice.” I run back to his car, I pull him toward me by his shirt, and angle my face against his--and then I push him away and run backward, laughing, my hair whipping around my face. “Covey!” he yells. “That’s what you get!” I call back gleefully. “See you on the bus tomorrow!

MICHAEL (standing up and stretching) Gosh, Steve. I don't know how to thank you. STEVE (also standing) Hey, don't thank me. It means you haven't got any excuse now not to get back to work. They are facing each other. STEVE is looking into MICHAEL's eyes. MICHAEL (embarrassed) So... STEVE (also slightly awkward) Right. Well, I guess I'd better be... MICHAEL, surprising himself, silently pulls STEVE towards him. He puts a hand on his cheek. STEVE stares at MICHAEL, unable to move. The feeling of MICHAEL's hand on his cheek is like an electric shock. MICHAEL (whispering, hardly audible) I mean it, really... thanks. He leans forward and kisses STEVE on the lips. STEVE puts his arms round MICHAEL's neck and holds him tightly. MICHAEL suddenly ends the kiss and pulls away. He goes to the door, opens it and says, in a clear voice. MICHAEL Goodnight, then, Steve. STEVE (disappointed, hurt) Right... sure. G'night. MICHAEL immediately closes the door loudly, before STEVE has had a chance to leave. MICHAEL puts a finger to his lips. STEVE suddenly understands. He smiles in radiant relief, pure love and joy in his eyes. They embrace.

When we arrive on our floor we head to our rooms, politely bidding each other goodnight. Just as I am about to enter mine, I remember I have his jacket. I can use this to have just one more moment with him tonight. I knock on his door, his lips slightly open when he sees me on the other side. “You forgot your jacket.” It is still on my shoulders. I turn around to offer it up to him. “Thank you Shy,” As he says this he takes both of his hands, grabbing each shoulder of the jacket and oh so slowly pulls it off of me, grazing my bare arms and back as he pulls it off. I close my eyes taking in his touch. Each caress of his fingertips feels like one thousand little sparks. How can just the faintest touch from this man set me off like this? Please kiss me. Kiss my neck. I won’t say no. I hold my position for a second more than I should, but it feels so tortuously long. There is nothing, not another touch, not a kiss. I turn to face him again and bid him goodnight. His face looks sad, almost guilty. Every word, every touch, every action tonight was an implication. This keeps us safe from one another. It keeps me safe from him. “Goodnight Shy,” he says as if dismissing me from his presence. “Goodnight Taylor.

walked him to the door. “Is there anything else you want me to do? Check your mail? Water your plants?” “My mail is being forwarded to my lawyer. And I’m watering my own plants.” “So, you feel safe in the Batcave?” The corners of his mouth curved into the hint of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed me at the base of my neck, just above my T-shirt collar. “Sweet dreams.” Before he left, he said good-night to Grandma, who was still in the kitchen. “What a nice, polite young man,” Grandma said. “And he’s got an excellent package.” I went straight to her closet, found the bottle of booze, and dumped some into my cocoa.

She was crouched in the corner of the room, eating something off the floor. It was the old woman dressed in endless black. When she looked up this time there was no question she was there for me. She had the face of my mother but much older, her ancient decayed mouth coming closer for her good-night kiss. I steeled myself against her putrid smell, the mouthful of bitter dust, but as her lips touched mine it was like biting into a purple black plum whose fruit was brilliant red, like an explosion of intense joy. Its childhood smell wrinkled my nose with pleasure, its sweet juices ran down my chin, turning into a beautiful black ocean where I floated safely, not lost as I had imagined, but securely tucked away deep in space.

So how are we going to handle this?” “This is going to sound strange, but what if we pretend, for the next ten minutes, that I don’t live here. I’ll walk you to the door. You go inside, then I’ll get back in my car and drive around the block.” I giggled. “That seems a little drastic.” “Yeah, but if we don’t do it like this I’m going to be kissing you all the way to your room. We sorta need to break the cycle.” “Okay.” He kissed me again. Slow. So Slow. His fingers in my hair. His thumb drawing a circle on my cheek. He drew back. “Okay.” He opened the car door and climbed out. I opened the door on my side, and by the time I got out, he was standing there. He took my hand, gave me a quick kiss, and led me to the front porch where my parents had left the light on. “I had a really nice time,” I said with a very serious face. He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, me, too. Maybe we could go out again sometime.” I almost burst out laughing. “I’d like that.” “Good night, Dani,” he said quietly. Then he took me in his arms and gave me a good-night kiss to remember.

I had a really nice time,” I said with a very serious face. He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, me, too. Maybe we could go out again sometime.” I almost burst out laughing. “I’d like that.” “Good night, Dani,” he said quietly. Then he took me in his arms and gave me a good-night kiss to remember. When he stepped back, I was really sorry to see him go, but I knew we couldn’t stay out there forever. “Good night,” I said. I turned to the door, slipped my key into the lock, then turned back around. “You’ll call me, right?” He laughed, ducked his head slightly, and grinned at me. “Yeah, I’ll call you.” “If you don’t, I’ll short-sheet your bed.” With that, I slipped inside, closed the door, and pressed my ear against it, wondering if he was really going to get in his car and drive around the block. I heard a car door slam, heard him start the engine… I was giddy, so very happy. It seemed silly for him to drive around the block, but on the other hand, it seemed like the perfect way to actually signal the end of our date. I mean, we weren’t married, but we were living in the same house.

The Late Night Traveler It was late and a traveler was looking for a room to spend the night.  He had stopped at every hotel and motel and there were no rooms available. At the far edge of town, he spotted one last motel.  It was his only hope. Unfortunately, the traveler was told by the clerk at this motel they had no rooms available also. “What am I to do?”  the traveler asked.  “Please, please you have to help me.  I have tried all the other places and there are no rooms and you are my last resort.”  ‘Well I do have a double room with only one occupant in it.  He stays here all the time. He probably won’t mind you staying in there and splitting the cost.  But I have to tell you, he snores very loud.  You may not get much sleep.” “Sounds great,” the traveler said and he took the room. The next morning when he was checking out, the clerk asked how he slept. “I slept very well, thank you,” the traveler said. “How were you able to sleep with all the snoring?” the clerk asked. “It wasn’t a problem at all,” the man said.  “When I got to the room I got undressed, walked over, gave him a little kiss on the cheek and said ‘goodnight,’ and he sat up all night watching me.

My roommate has a gerbil,” Ryan said, grinning. “The little guy got loose and crapped all over my bed. It’s just been a crazy day.” Nodding at his silly story, I heard a familiar voice. “That’s fucking fascinating,” Judd said from behind me. “Then, what happened?” Judd was stalking me apparently. He pulled a chair to the table. “What are we having for dinner?” “Who are you exactly?” Ryan asked. “Tawny’s man. I don’t do names or handshakes, so save it, kid.” When Ryan looked at me for help, I shook my head. “I have no control over him. If I did, he wouldn’t be here.” “Oh, don’t be like that,” Judd said, caressing the back of my hair. “I like that sweater on you. Very autumn. Looks good with your eyes.” “Please, go away.” “I can’t. I’m your ride tonight.” “Should I leave?” Ryan asked. Judd glanced at my date. “Just catch onto that, did you?” Ryan stood up. “See you around, Tawny.” “Can’t you stay and ignore him?” Judd’s eyes narrowed. “No, he can’t.” “We can still talk,” I said, praying Ryan would stay. “He might leave if we treat him like static in the background.” Ryan considered staying until Judd’s amused expression faded. “She’s not fucking you, if that’s what you’re holding out for. In fact, you ain’t even getting a goodnight kiss. Well, unless you want that to be the last thing your lips ever do before I rip them off your face.” “I’m going to leave,” Ryan said, giving me a tight smile. “See you around.” “If you see her,” Judd growled, “you just keep on walking.” Nodding, Ryan hurried away, leaving me alone with Judd who switched into the seat across from me. “Alone at last.

Fifty Ways to Love Your Partner 1. Love yourself first. 2. Start each day with a hug. 3. Serve breakfast in bed. 4. Say “I love you” every time you part ways. 5. Compliment freely and often. 6. Appreciate—and celebrate—your differences. 7. Live each day as if it’s your last. 8. Write unexpected love letters. 9. Plant a seed together and nurture it to maturity. 10. Go on a date once every week. 11. Send flowers for no reason. 12. Accept and love each others’ family and friends. 13. Make little signs that say “I love you” and post them all over the house. 14. Stop and smell the roses. 15. Kiss unexpectedly. 16. Seek out beautiful sunsets together. 17. Apologize sincerely. 18. Be forgiving. 19. Remember the day you fell in love—and recreate it. 20. Hold hands. 21. Say “I love you” with your eyes. 22. Let her cry in your arms. 23. Tell him you understand. 24. Drink toasts of love and commitment. 25. Do something arousing. 26. Let her give you directions when you’re lost. 27. Laugh at his jokes. 28. Appreciate her inner beauty. 29. Do the other person’s chores for a day. 30. Encourage wonderful dreams. 31. Commit a public display of affection. 32. Give loving massages with no strings attached. 33. Start a love journal and record your special moments. 34. Calm each others’ fears. 35. Walk barefoot on the beach together. 36. Ask her to marry you again. 37. Say yes. 38. Respect each other. 39. Be your partner’s biggest fan. 40. Give the love your partner wants to receive. 41. Give the love you want to receive. 42. Show interest in the other’s work. 43. Work on a project together. 44. Build a fort with blankets. 45. Swing as high as you can on a swing set by moonlight. 46. Have a picnic indoors on a rainy day. 47. Never go to bed mad. 48. Put your partner first in your prayers. 49. Kiss each other goodnight. 50. Sleep like spoons. Mark and Chrissy Donnelly

refuge imagine how it feels to be chased out of home. to have your grip ripped. loosened from your fingertips, something you so dearly held on to. like a lover’s hand that slips when pulled away you are always reaching. my father would speak of home. reaching. speaking of familiar faces. girl next door who would eventually grow up to be my mother. the fruit seller at the market. the lonely man at the top of the road who nobody spoke to. and our house at the bottom of the street lit up by a single flickering lamp where beyond was only darkness. there they would sit and tell stories of monsters that lurked and came only at night to catch the children who sat and listened to stories of monsters that lurked. this is how they lived. each memory buried. an artefact left to be discovered by archaeologists. the last words on a dying family member’s lips. this was sacred. not even monsters could taint it. but there were monsters that came during the day. monsters that tore families apart with their giant hands. and fingers that slept on triggers. the sound of gunshots ripping through the sky became familiar like the tapping of rain fall on a window sill. monsters that would kill and hide behind speeches, suits and ties. monsters that would chase families away forcing them to leave everything behind. i remember when we first stepped off the plane. everything was foreign. unfamiliar. uninviting. even the air in my lungs left me short of breath. we came here to find refuge. they called us refugees so, we hid ourselves in their language until we sounded just like them. changed the way we dressed to look just like them. made this our home until we lived just like them and began to speak of familiar faces. girl next door who would grow up to be a mother. the fruit seller at the market. the lonely man at the top of the road who nobody spoke to. and our house at the bottom of the street lit up by a flickering lamp to keep away the darkness. there we would sit and watch police that lurked and came only at night to arrest the youths who sat and watched police that lurked and came only at night. this is how we lived. i remember one day i heard them say to me they come here to take our jobs they need to go back to where they came from not knowing that i was one of the ones who came. i told them that a refugee is simply someone who is trying to make a home. so next time when you go home tuck your children in and kiss your families goodnight, be glad that the monsters never came for you. in their suits and ties. never came for you. in the newspapers with the media lies. never came for you. that you are not despised. and know that deep inside the hearts of each and every one of us we are all always reaching for a place that we can call home.

Of course, no china--however intricate and inviting--was as seductive as my fiancé, my future husband, who continued to eat me alive with one glance from his icy-blue eyes. Who greeted me not at the door of his house when I arrived almost every night of the week, but at my car. Who welcomed me not with a pat on the arm or even a hug but with an all-enveloping, all-encompassing embrace. Whose good-night kisses began the moment I arrived, not hours later when it was time to go home. We were already playing house, what with my almost daily trips to the ranch and our five o’clock suppers and our lazy movie nights on his thirty-year-old leather couch, the same one his parents had bought when they were a newly married couple. We’d already watched enough movies together to last a lifetime. Giant with James Dean, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Reservoir Dogs, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Graduate, All Quiet on the Western Front, and, more than a handful of times, Gone With the Wind. I was continually surprised by the assortment of movies Marlboro Man loved to watch--his taste was surprisingly eclectic--and I loved discovering more and more about him through the VHS collection in his living room. He actually owned The Philadelphia Story. With Marlboro Man, surprises lurked around every corner. We were already a married couple--well, except for the whole “sleepover thing” and the fact that we hadn’t actually gotten hitched yet. We stayed in, like any married couple over the age of sixty, and continued to get to know everything about each other completely outside the realm of parties, dates, and gatherings. All of that was way too far away, anyway--a minimum hour-and-a-half drive to the nearest big city--and besides that, Marlboro Man was a fish out of water in a busy, crowded bar. As for me, I’d been there, done that--a thousand and one times. Going out and panting the town red was unnecessary and completely out of context for the kind of life we’d be building together. This was what we brought each other, I realized. He showed me a slower pace, and permission to be comfortable in the absence of exciting plans on the horizon. I gave him, I realized, something different. Different from the girls he’d dated before--girls who actually knew a thing or two about country life. Different from his mom, who’d also grown up on a ranch. Different from all of his female cousins, who knew how to saddle and ride and who were born with their boots on. As the youngest son in a family of three boys, maybe he looked forward to experiencing life with someone who’d see the country with fresh eyes. Someone who’d appreciate how miraculously countercultural, how strange and set apart it all really is. Someone who couldn’t ride to save her life. Who didn’t know north from south, or east from west. If that defined his criteria for a life partner, I was definitely the woman for the job.