Sn Love Quotes

SN: you know what I think about sometimes? Me: What? SN: you know that piece of hair that always falls into your eyes—the not-quite-a-bang piece? I want to be able to tuck it behind your ear. I want to be able to do that. I want to meet you when I feel comfortable enough with you to do that. Me: You are so weird. SN: you are not the first person to say that. Me: Am I the first to say that I really like that about you?

It gives me... gives me hope. In second chances. In the different manifestations of love. In the inexplicable avenues of God's grace.

As we prepared for sleep that night I noticed that Lisa was staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked as young now as the day I met her, no grey upon her jet black hair, face always pale, she rarely sun bathed, dark glittering eyes and finally pearly white teeth. What a woman, always passionate about her affairs and always interested in my work. Shame her family could not attend our wedding. I suppose that is the hazard of marrying a Slav, either the family is dead, scattered or too poor to fly to England. Still it was a happy wedding, a quiet one with a few friends from work. Lisa crawled into bed beside me; her body, always cold, quickly warmed to my touch. Why are women always cold when they first get into bed? We kissed for what seemed an age, caressing each other’s bodies until at last she pushed me onto my back, straddled me and smiled looking down into my eyes. She licked her lips and slowly leant forward. The next morning I checked my neck for any tell-tale signs of our love making. Again Lisa had bitten every inch of my body and left not a mark. I smiled down at her sleeping form, kissed her cheek and went to my study. I had term papers to mark and research for my next set of lectures. Lisa came into my study just after lunch. For a woman just out of bed she looked remarkably well, her hair was untangled, her cheeks full in bloom, there were no signs of tiredness in her eyes at all. I smiled at her as we kissed, then she told me of the theme for the dinner party. Eleven guests as usual and each one would have to be very special. I left her to set up the invitations and planning. This was going to be the Last supper revisited it seemed.

I still felt a little bit sick for needing the help of a Librarian. It was frustrating. Terribly frustrating. In fact, I don’t think I can accurately—through text—show you just how frustrating it was. But because I love you, I’m going to try anyway. Let’s start by randomly capitalizing letters. “We cAn SenD fOr a draGOn to cArry us,” SinG saId As we burst oUt oF the stAirWeLL and ruSHED tHrough ThE roOm aBovE. “ThAT wILl taKe tOO Long,” BaStiLlE saiD. “We’Ll haVe To graB a VeHiCle oFf thE STrEet,” I sAid. (You know what, that’s not nearly frustrating enough. I’m going to have to start adding in random punctuation marks too.) We c! RoS-Sed thrOu? gH t% he Gra## ND e ` nt < Ry > WaY at “A” de-aD Ru) n. OnC $ e oUts/ iDE, I Co* Uld sEe T ^ haT the suN wa + S nEar to s = Ett = ING—it w.O.u.l.d Onl > y bE a co@ uPle of HoU[ rs unTi ^ L the tR} e} atY RATiF ~ iCATiON ha, pPenEd. We nEeDeD!! to bE QuicK?.? UnFOrTu() nAtelY, tHE! re weRe no C? arriA-ges on tHe rOa ^ D for U/ s to cOmMan > < dEer. Not a ON ~ e ~. THerE w + eRe pe/\ Ople wa | lK | Ing aBoUt, BU? t no caRr# iaGes. (Okay, you know what? That’s not frustrating enough either. Let’s start replacing some random vowels with the letter Q.) I lqOk-eD arO! qnD, dE# sPqrA# te, fRq? sTr/ Ated (like you, hopefully), anD aNn | qYeD. Jq! St eaR& lIer, tHqr ^ E hq.d BeeN DoZen! S of cq? RrIqgEs on The rQA! d! No-W tHqRe wA = Sn’t a SqnGl + e oN ^ q. “ThE_rQ!” I eXclai $ mqd, poIntIng. Mqv = Ing do ~ Wn th_e RqaD! a shoRt diStq + + nCe aWay < wAs > a sTrANgq gLaSs cqnTrAPtion. I waSN’t CqrTain What it wAs >, bUt It w! qs MoV? ing—aND s% qmewhat quIc: =) Kly. “LeT’s G_q gRA? b iT!

Essentially I am single and unmarried guy but if I say I am single two girl will get angry, and I hear their voices always and If I leave to Tamilnadu, I don't know what they will think about it and I personally care about them a lot that something bad should not happen to them just like i care about my parents and relatives. These two girl I have talked a lot and lot so that I hear their inner mind as well, I consider them as friends but I don't know they will accept me as just friend or with expectations, because I love the people without expectations very much. But My only wish and concern is that even if I leave to Tamilnadu, something bad should not happen to these two girls and I don't care about rest because I have no idea about other people in Bangalore and what they are upto. These two girls whether they marry someone or fall in love with someone, they should be happy without any disturbances. Never touch these two girls even after I leave Bangalore RKP, SN

I love you, Everlee. So much so that the thought of losing you sometimes feels like a dagger in my heart.

The passion of these newly rich Americans for industrial merger yielded to an even more insistent passion for a merger of their newly acquired domains with more ancient ones; they wanted to veneer their arrivisme with the traditional. It would be gratifying to feel, as you drove up to your porte-cochère in Pittsburgh, that you were one with the jaded Renaissance Venetian who had just returned from a sitting for Titian; to feel, as you walked by the ranks of gleaming and authentic suits of armour in your mansion on Long Island – and passed the time of day with your private armourer – that it was only an accident of chronology that had put you in a counting house when you might have been jousting with other kings in the Tournament of Love; to push aside the heavy damask tablecloth on a magnificent Louis XIV dining-room table, making room for a green-shaded office lamp, beneath which you scanned the report of last month’s profit from the Saginaw branch, and then, looking up, catch a glimpse of Mrs Richard Brinsley Sheridan and flick the fantasy that presently you would be ordering your sedan chair, because the loveliest girl in London was expecting

The millionaires of the Duveen Era were all dressed up, but they really had nowhere to go. Duveen supplied a favoured few of them with a destination. The private lives of these sad tycoons were often bitter; their children and their family life disappointed them. The fathers had too much to give; the returns were often in inverse ratio to the size of the gifts. They knew that they were ruining their children and yet they didn’t know how to stop it. Their children made disastrous marriages, got killed in racing cars, had to pay blackmail to avoid scandal. But with the works of art it was different. They asked for nothing. They were rewarding. They shed their radiance, and it was a lovely, soothing light. You could take them or leave them, and when you had visitors you could bask in the admiration the pictures and sculptures excited, which was directed towards you even more subtly than towards them, as if you yourself had gathered them and, even, created them. The works of art became their children.