Lesbian Romantic Quotes

And she did not have to ask if this was right, no one had to tell her, because this could not have been more right or perfect.

...It had all happened in that instant she had seen Carol standing in the middle of the floor, watching her. Then the realization that so much had happened after that meeting made her feel incredibly lucky suddenly. It was so easy for a man and woman to find each other, to find someone who would do, but for her to have found Carol-

I'm again a twelve-year old dreamer, a girl fascinated by an ancient piano and with Rona Lubliner's fingers.

I'm holding out hope for a girl who will never, ever have a romantic feeling for me as long as she lives. It's foolish, really, that I'm prepared to die alone when I know for a fact there's a sea of lesbians somewhere I could be swimming in.

Coleridge perceived as no one else had done that lesbianism could be a source of the sublime.

There are people out there who get annoyed at the story that Djuna barnes, rather than identify as a lesbian, preferred to say that she 'just loved Thelma.' Gertrude Stein reputedly made similar claims, albeit not in those exact terms, about Alice. I get why it's politically maddening, but I've also always thought it a little romantic—the romance of letting an individual experience of desire take precedence over a categorical one.

I don’t really care if their parents are same sex, lesbian or gay, straight, married, cohabitating, divorced, bi-racial or what. If they love and take care of them, which is basically what all children need and want, I don’t think it matters. -- Breaking Through (Military Romantic Suspense) (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers)

You've broken through all my barriers, and I love you for your tenacity. I love you for how dedicated and loyal you are to the people you love, and I want to be the one you love the most. You make me want to be a better person. For me, for us. So, Aimee, will you spend the rest of your life with me?

As women we're raised to take tepid two-steps, to doubt, to let the other make the move. And when you are caught with another girl in that dance... How many times have I stepped the same steps, trodden the same tired grooves of my mind, an ouroboros of extreme elation and suffocating uncertainty? How does one get out of this labyrinth? Burn all your romantic novels, cough on the fumes till you spit out the sediment? Bury your pink lingerie in a bed of rock, quell those femme yearnings, become stone?

A kiss from her is a spark that reignited a whole new feeling of love. As she felt herself become more in tune for the senses of her that made her body shiver. Just one kiss is all it took to shine the light on a new beginning.

I couldn’t help but laugh when Landon’s round eyes met mine again. This was my life. A leopard print couch, a David Beckham look-alike, two lesbians, and a Felix the Cat clock. Sure, it wasn’t the JumboTron at Safeco Field, but it was by far the most romantic thing I’d ever experienced.

Lesbians, in my eyes, are defined as the ones who invent their own systems of love: Romantic love. Family love. Friend love. A love for community, and for strangers too. They love when there is nothing to gain—no kingdom, no castle, no seat in the official record books of history—even when they are at risk of losing everything.

The lie [of compulsory female heterosexuality] is many-layered. In Western tradition, one layer—the romantic—asserts that women are inevitably, even if rashly and tragically, drawn to men; that even when that attraction is suicidal (e. g, Tristan and Isolde, Kate Chopin’s ‘The Awakening’) it is still an organic imperative. In the tradition of the social sciences it asserts that primary love between the sexes is ‘normal,’ that women need men as social and economic protectors, for adult sexuality, and for psychological completion; that the heterosexually constituted family is the basic social unit; that women who do not attach their primary intensity to men must be, in functional terms, condemned to an even more devastating outsiderhood than their outsiderhood as women.

And she did love Parker. She'd loved her from the very first time they stood in the alley and Parker provided what she wanted, what she needed, without a second thought. She had loved her since the day Parker introduced herself in class. And she couldn't have loved her more than the day she listened to the tale of hurt and betrayal this formidable hero faced from the ones she trusted the most.

The line between straight men having sex with men and "actual" homosexuality is under constant scrutiny, and for straight men, violence is a key element that imbues homosexuality with heterosexual meaning, or untangles hetero-erotic forms of homosexuality from the affective, political, and romantic associations with gay and lesbian life. Sometimes this violence takes the form of humiliation or physical force enacted by one straight man as he makes sexual contact with another; in other cases, it may take the form of two men fantasizing about sexual violence against women. In many cases, violence is a central part of the work of reframing homosexual sex as an act that men do to build one another's strength, or to build what I call "anal resilience," thereby inoculating one another against what they imagine are the sincere expressions of gay selfhood.

being gay is not about what we do; it’s about who we are. It is impossible to overstate the importance of this and the degree to which heterosexual people don’t understand it. The word “homosexual” seems to define us solely in terms of the gender of the person we’re sexually intimate with. There is much more to us than our sexuality. And besides, many gay and lesbian people—some very young, and some very old—have never been sexually intimate with anyone of the same gender, yet they know and understand themselves as gay. It’s more about the lens through which we see the world. It’s about our history of being an oppressed and discriminated-against minority. It’s about the culture that colludes to make us feel unworthy, immoral, and dirty. Every person, gay or straight, encounters the world in a particular body, with a particular sexual orientation. It affects every interaction, whether with the same or the opposite gender. That orientation affects every relationship, every encounter with another person, even if the relationship is not romantic or sexual in any way. It affects the chemistry of a relationship and the nature of the human interaction. And that is true whether or not a person has ever “acted on” the same-sex attractions he or she has felt.

Human flesh, though this will come as a shock to many of you, is a source of pleasure not necessarily localized in those specific areas that will be known to any follower of pornographic films or romantic movies, except those made in the United States.

On se fixe comme deux chiennes engagées et il n'y a rien de romantique dans tout ça : les flammes qui brassent l'air dans ses pupilles se répercutent dans les miennes.

Lesbianism and male homosexuality also appear to be quite different: Male sexual orientation tends to appear early in development, whereas female sexuality appears to be more flexible or fluid over the lifespan (B aumeister, 2000). Future theories should attend to the large individual differences within those currently classified as lesbian and gay. For example, mate preferences vary across lesbians who describe themselves as “butch” as opposed to “femme” (B ailey et al., 1997; B assett, Pearcey, & Dabbs, 2001). Butch lesbians tend to be more masculine, dominant, and assertive, whereas femme lesbians tend to be more sensitive, cheerful, and feminine. The differences are more than merely psychological; butch lesbians, compared to their femme peers, have higher levels of circulating testosterone, more masculine waist-to-hip ratios, more permissive attitudes toward casual sex, and less desire to have children (S ingh, Vidaurri, Zambarano, & Dabbs, 1999). Femme lesbians place greater importance than butch lesbians on financial resources in a potential romantic partner and experience sexual jealousy over rivals who are more physically attractive. Butch lesbians place less value on financial resources when seeking partners but experience greater jealousy over rival competitors who are more financially successful. The psychological, morphological, and hormonal correlates imply that butch and femme are not merely arbitrary labels but rather reflect genuine individual differences.

The idea that homosexuality is a social construct neglects the plentiful evidence that it is also a biological reality. Despite any liberation this may achieve, it threatens to undo the considerable progress made by lesbian and gay activists encountering the belief that their romantic and sexual attractions are a mere lifestyle choice that could, in two manifestations of the same principle, be theorized into existence or prayed away.

I didn't know what my label was when I got involved with you. I'd never been attracted to any woman that way, so I don't even know if I can consider myself a lesbian, or even bi. There is one label though, that sums me up perfectly and it's forever yours.

Dr. Ahmed's love spells are not limited to romantic relationships; they can also be used to improve friendships, family relationships, and other aspects of your life. His spells are designed to bring about positive change and improvement in all areas of your life, helping you to live a more fulfilling and happy life.

Well, Misty Hoyt,” Sergei grinned. “Why don’t you go up there on the stage and strut your stuff? I’d like to see you pole dance.” “What?” “Pole dance.” “Oh, pole dance,” I mumbled, slurping back saliva. I figured I would hardly be able to stand up, let alone pole dance. I had never pole danced in my whole life though Misty Hoyt had pole danced and had admitted as much at the bar to Andrei, but I hadn’t had time to catch up with all of Misty’s skills. This was definitely a hole in the planning of my backstory – giving me experience, as a pole dancer, I would not be able to fake. I would look utterly grotesque too, tattooed as I was; the vanity of self-consciousness never dies – I shuddered at the thought of me tattooed and pierced among those buff, golden, perfectly beautiful girls. Whatever! I had to do it. “Okay,” I said, “You are the boss, Mister Sergei.” I managed somehow to stand up, wobble, and then make my way, through tables and guests, and get over to the runway, and climb up onto it. It seemed very high. I weaved, tottered this way and that, and then somehow, I pulled myself together. I pole danced with one of the pole dancers – me weaving around one pole, and she around the other. She was the petite, fine-featured golden Vietnamese girl I had noticed before. I’d seen movies of pole dancing, so I managed to fake it; and then I was the tattooed pierced clown, a freakish waif, I didn’t really have to be very good. Then – I’m foggy about actually when – the golden Vietnamese girl and I were ordered to make love on the runway in the bright lights. The strobe lights had stopped. The other pole dancers had disappeared into the crowd. And now, except for the spotlights on the two of us, the whole place was subdued in dull amber light, a sort of nightclub twilight. The music went down, and it was quiet. I thought maybe I was hallucinating the silence. But no, it was real.