Sweetheart I Love You Quotes

I don't love you anymore", she whispered. "I don't love you at all." His throat closed. "It's all right, sweetheart. I love you enough for both of us.

It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

I didn't know what to say, but my heart was racing as he slid his hands down to mine. He placed them on his chest, right above his heart. "I have hope," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "I have hope because I love you-I've been in love with you, Avery. Probably before I even realized that I was." "You loved me?" Cam dropped his forehead to mine and his chest rose sharply under my hands. "I love you." My heart stuttered. "You love me?" "Yes, sweetheart.

You love me,” I breathe. He lets out a short laugh. “You’re such a fucking girl.” “Say it again.” He smiles, a full blown one that tingles my body all over. “I fucking love you, sweetheart.

So you know what your punishment is going to be, sweetheart? I'm going to make love to you. Slowly. Hell, it might take me until tomorrow. I'm going to lose count of how many times you come. And every time you do, I'm going to tell you that I love you. Until you fucking get used to it.

I tried to hate you, to forgive you, all just to forget you, but I'm only capable of loving you. You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I love you." - Avery "I know." - Cam "Cocky." - Avery "Confident. I love you sweetheart." - Cam

I’m so damn glad I love you – I wouldn’t love any other man on earth – I b’lieve if I had deliberately decided on a sweetheart, he’d have been you.

No kissing or face-to-face contact during sex,” she murmured. “I thought those were your rules.” …”You’re right, sweetheart,” I said, dropping my forehead to hers with a resigned sigh. So. Fucked.. “But the rules don’t apply to you.

My sweetheart! When I think of you, it's as if I'm holding some healing balm to my sick soul, and although i suffer for you, i find that even suffering for you is easy.

Sweetheart, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I would be forever beholden to you if you could kindly assume a reclining position so I can screw your brains out.

I love you so much, sweetheart. So, so much. And it's in part because of things like that. You're an idealist and a romantic, and you have a beautiful soul. And I wish the world was ready to be the way you see it. I wish that the rest of the people on earth with us were capable of living up to your expectations. But they aren't. The world is ugly, and no one wants to give anyone the benefit of the doubt about anything. When we lose our work and our reputations, when we lose our friends and, eventually, what money we have, we will be destitute. I've lived that life before. And I cannot let it happen to you. I will do whatever I can to prevent you from living that way. Do you hear me? I love you too much to let you live only for me.

Sweetheart," Bill said formally, "I have always loved you, and I will be proud to die in your service. When I'm gone, say a prayer for me in a real church.

I love you. I'll never leave you and I swear to you sweetheart that you will never be alone.

Oh, sweetheart. You haven’t been paying attention … I am the guy who has been in love with you for over six fucking years. I am the guy that has thought about you every day. I miss you every day. What happened — what we lost together — breaks my heart, but it doesn’t change anything.

Jack grabbed Phil's arm to teleport back to Romatech. Phil muttered a curse. "If you say one word about this to the other guys, I will stake you in your sleep." "Don't worry, sweetheart. If they find out about this, I'll stake myself.

A true friend doesn't have guts; they beat you up and later plead with you to beat them back.

Sweetheart, darling, dearest, it was funny to think that these endearments, which used to sound exceedingly sentimental in movies and books, now held great importance, simple but true verbal affirmations of how they felt for each other. They were words only the heart could hear and understand, words that could impart entire pentameter sonnets in their few, short syllables.

Sweetheart, I’m telling you, you love someone like that, you love them the right way, and no time would be enough. Doesn’t matter if you had thirty years,” she tells me. “It wouldn’t be enough.

Hunt." The entire world went quiet. "I was waiting for you." "Bryce, sweetheart, just get back to your apartment and give me an hour and-" "No," she whispered, closing her eyes. She put her hand on her chest. Over her heart. "I was waiting for you- in here." Hunt couldn't stop his own tears then. "I was waiting for you, too.

You’re right, sweetheart,” I said, dropping my forehead to hers with a resigned sigh. So. Fucked. “But the rules don’t apply to you.

I’m in love with you, sweetheart.

So how long have I loved you for? Womb to tomb, sweetheart? Since before I was even here at all.

Sweetheart, wake up; you've destroyed the house and I need you to suffer for it.

Love’ is a word that doesn’t mean a damned thing to me. ‘Em,’ though? That’s a word that means everything. I’d die for you, babe. Kill for you, too. I stood up to my club for you and I don’t regret any of it, not for a minute. So, you wanted to know how I feel? I don’t even have a word for what I feel, sweetheart. I just know it’s really fuckin’ good.

All the names I’ve called you through the years—my chick, my pumpkin, precious dove, darling, sweetheart, dinky, smudge … I know why the Jews and Muslims have nine hundred names for God; one small word is not enough for love.

And I really wanted to see you, too," she said. "When I couldn’t see you any more, I realized that. It was as clear as if the planets all of a sudden lined up in a row for me. I really need you. You’re a part of me; I’m a part of you.

Kiss me. I love the way you kiss me. Like I'm the only thing in the world. When I'm kissin' you, sweetheart you are the only thing in my world

But you’re right about one thing: he’s my best friend. I know him very well, and no matter what he said or did tonight, I’ve never seen him act this way with another girl. No one,” he repeated, “except you.

Just…” I sucked in a deep breath, unable to look at him, it hurt so much. “Leave me alone.” Alex’s chest heaved like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. “I can’t do that, sweetheart. I’ll wait however long it takes, but I’ll never be okay with a world in which you’re alone.

I have these realistic dreams and snap wide awake in the middle of the night. And for a while I can't work out what's real and what isn't... That kind of feeling. Do you have any idea what I'm saying?

I love everything about you. And I’ve felt that way for such a long time that it could last forever.

And you’re in love?” “Ma, we’ve never even kissed.” “And that has anything to do with it?” “Okay, fine. Yes, I think so. But don’t tell anyone. Don’t even repeat it to yourself.” “Why?” “Because it’s humiliating.” “Sweetheart, love is humiliating. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” “Who would have told me that?” “Do you know the word humiliate comes from the Latin root humus , which means ‘earth’? That’s how love is supposed to feel.” “Like hummus?” “Like earth. It ground s you. All this nonsense about love being a drug, making you feel high, that’s not real. It should hold you like the earth.” “Wow, Ma.” “What? I have a heart, don’t I?

Ellie I have never in life... ever sweetheart...experienced these feelings that i have for you. You walk into a room and i have to catch my breath at the sight of you. You flash your beautiful smile at me and there's not a damn thing in this world I wouldnt do for you. Your laugh moves through my body like a jolt of electricity. Your eyes captivate mine; your lips bring me to my knee's. I want to know every part of you Ellie. I'm just as confused by these feelings as you are sweetheart but i want you to know something, I'll never push you or give up on us I promise you that. Please Ellie just let me in. Let me prove to you how much i want to be with you

All right, sweetheart; here's your last question, and it's a real challenge, so don't let yourself get distracted by these jealous women. To make sure all twelve of our future children are going to be legitimate, what New York City football team did Joe Namath play for?" Gracie's face fell. Lord. Any fool should know the answer to this one. New York City... What football team was from New York City? Her expression brightened. "The New York City YANKEES!" A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, accompanied by more than a few loud groans. Bobby Tom silenced them all with a glare. At the same time, the glitter in his eyes dared any of them to contradict her. When he was certain everyone understood the message, he turned back to Gracie and gathered her into his arms. With a tender look and a gentle brush of his lips, he said "Exactly right, sweetheart. I had no idea you knew so much about football" And that was how every last person in Telarosa, Texas, came to understand that Bobby Tom Denton had finally and forever fallen head over heels in love.

Another step had her backed up against the wall, and he braced his arms on both sides of her. "I'm beginning to look forward to this marriage, just so I can spend the rest of my life making you miserable." Alexandra was too angry to be intimidated. "Misery loves company, sweetheart," she shot back. "So don't think I'll be suffering mine alone." She slipped out from under his arm and marched out the door.

What I feel for you isn’t only love, obsession, or addiction. It’s all of those and more. Do you know what that means, sweetheart? It means I can’t live without you, so don’t you fucking dare leave me.

And you have to believe me when I tell you that no one could ever be as beautiful as you are at this very moment, because I could never want anyone more than I want you right now.

Fall, sweetheart. I'll catch you.

Olive…” There was a long sigh. “When did I start missing you this much, sweetheart? When did I…

I love you Alex. I don‘t think I‘ll ever get tired of hearing you say that sweetheart. He lifted himself on his elbow and kissed her. I love you too. Forever. Valerie still could't believe the impossibility of this night. If she woke up in her bed and this all had been a dream she was going to kill someone.

Sweetheart, I remember every second from the first moment I laid eyes on you and I’ve been trying to get my world upright ever since.

When the music stopped, it could have been forever since we'd begun. My grandfather took a step back, and the light grew yellow at his back. 'I'm going,' he said. 'Where?' I asked. 'Don't worry, sweetheart. You're so close.' He turned and walked away, disappearing rapidly into spots and dust. Infinity.

It’s not a secret to anyone but you that I’m in love with you, sweetheart. I’m so goddamn in love with you, it’s . . . Well, at the risk of sounding like a pussy, it’s unsettling and scary as fuck to realize the control you have over me.

Because I love you more than any goddamn thing on this fucking planet, I’m gonna let you have one more day. You just lost your daddy, and I’ll never forgive my- self for not being here with you. I’ll live my life regretting it. But I’ll be back. You’re mine, Eva Brooks. Always. You told me that yourself and, sweetheart, I’m holding you to it.

Her chest began to quake softly. "Why?" "Why what, sweetheart?" I said gently. "Why do you want me?" I didn't even have to think. "Because anyone who's been through what you have and can still come out in one piece on the other side is a beautiful creature that I want to know.

I love you so much, sweetheart. So much that sometimes I can't breathe. I can't think. You're all I've ever wanted, even before I knew I wanted it. I don't deserve you, Katherine.

Remember that, sweetheart. I love you so much that I have to hurt you.

I’m going to love teaching you some patience, sweetheart. You don’t know what dying means yet. You’ll know when you’ve come for my mouth so many times, you’d sell your soul to be filled.

You have to stop, sweetheart,” Fellows said. “Because I love you so much, it’s killing me.

I longed to be loved that way. You are, sweetheart. You are loved. Stop trying to be a savior, and let me carry you.

I’ve tried so many times to think of a new way to say it - and it’s still I love you - love you - love you - my Sweetheart.

Everything I have become, everything I will ever accomplish cannot compare to my most impressive feat: I have loved you fiercely and assiduously with the very marrow inside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to find you there. So that when I die, they can open me up and see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart. So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemorate who I was nor what I did, but will read: “She loved. And loved. And loved.” And so, I smile now, because that is no small thing.

Sweetheart," he murmured. "What is the second thing?" She was still crying, but she'd never been happier. So she said it, probably in the worst accent he'd ever heard. "Ik hou van jou, Adam.

Ava... Sweetheart, please. Tell me what I have to do. I'll do anything." "I don't know of there's anything you can do,... I'm sorry." "Then I'll just have to try everything until we find something,

Lady, did you ever see anyone shot by a gun without bleeding?” This film came out at the height of the Vietnam War. I love that line. That’s gotta be one of the principles behind reality. Accepting things that are hard to comprehend, and leaving them that way. And bleeding. Shooting and bleeding.

Why Just ask the donkey in me To speak to the donkey in you, When I have so many other beautiful animals And brilliant colored birds inside That are longing to say something wonderful And exciting to your heart? Let's open all the locked doors upon our eyes That keep us from knowing the Intelligence That begets love And a more lively and satisfying conversation With the Friend. Let's turn loose our golden falcons So that they can meet in the sky Where our spirits belong-- Necking like two Hot kids. Let's hold hands and get drunk near the sun And sing sweet songs to God Until He joins us with a few notes From his own sublime lute and drum. If you have a better idea Of how to pass a lonely night After your glands may have performed All their little magic Then speak up sweethearts, speak up, For Hafiz and all the world will listen. Why just bring your donkey to me Asking for stale hay And a boring conference with the idiot In regards to this precious matter-- Such a precious matter as love, When I have so many other divine animals And brilliant colored birds inside That are all longing To so sweetly Greet You!

Why are you giving me a hard time?" she growled. "Sweetheart, I’d love to give you a hard time. Anytime you want.

And he helped you do it?" "No, sweetheart. He told me I could do it.

You grabbed my hand and twirled me around, two sidewalk sweethearts. Then, very earnestly, you stopped, leaned over, and whispered, "You know, I'd get a tattoo with your name on it. Only, I want you to have the freedom to change your name if you want to.

What’s got you smilin’ like a bitch who just had good cock?” I was interrupted by a sexy drawl. I looked up to see Nash leaning against the door frame, arms crossed in front of him, sexy smirk plastered on his face. He was tall, all muscle and ink; he exuded a couldn’t-give-a-fuck attitude. Nash was one of the cockiest men I had ever met and the women flocked to him. I rolled my eyes. “Can a woman not smile unless she’s had cock?” I asked. He uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the door frame; coming towards me, “No, sweet thing, it all comes down to cock.” “Well, I hate to tell you, Nash, but this woman hasn’t had any today, and yet I am still smiling. I think your theory is a little off.” I loved bantering back and forth with him. He raised his eyebrows. “J’s fallin’ down on the job there sweetheart. You sure you don’t want to jump ships? I’ve got all you’ll ever need,” he grinned at me, opening his arms wide in an inviting gesture.

Dear wife, I'm sorry that I am mysteriously incapable of folding clean laundry, but I iron, oh, I iron. Sweetheart, I'll make your white shirt so crisp and sharp that it will split atoms as you walk.

Way back when the Sam Peckinpah film The Wild Bunch premiered, a woman journalist raised her hand at the press conference and asked the following: “Why in the world do you have to show so much blood all over the place?” She was pretty worked up about it. One of the actors, Ernest Borgnine, looked a bit perplexed and fielded the question. “Lady, did you ever see anyone shot by a gun without bleeding?” This film came out at the height of the Vietnam War. I love that line. That’s gotta be one of the principles behind reality. Accepting things that are hard to comprehend, and leaving them that way. And bleeding. Shooting and bleeding.

My sweetheart, my love, my love, my love—do you know what—all the happiness of the world, the riches, power and adventures, all the promises of religions, all the enchantment of nature and even human fame are not worth your two letters. It was a night of horror, terrible anguish, when I imagined that your undelivered letter, stuck at some unknown post office, was being destroyed like a sick little stray dog . . . But today it arrived—and now it seems to me that in the mailbox where it was lying, in the sack where it was shaking, all the other letters absorbed, just by touching it, your unique charm and that that day all Germans received strange wonderful letters—letters that had gone mad because they had touched your handwriting. The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week’s, ten days’—what does it matter? since my whole life belongs to you. I wake at night and know that you are together with me,—I sense your sweet long legs, your neck through your hair, your trembling eyelashes—and then such happiness, such simmering bliss follows me in my dreams that I simply suffocate . . .

Nice try, sweetheart, but there’s no way you’re leaving me alone with a barely aware drunk chick. Who knows what she’ll accused me of later? This time tomorrow, the cops could show up at my door, and before you know it, I’m rocking an orange jumpsuit, singing “Summer Loving” with a guy named Snake.

Because it is useless, and I tell them so at once. If you had confessed your fears to me sooner, I would have reassured you. My dear friend, a man in love is not only foolish but dangerous. I cease all intercourse with people who love me or pretend to; firstly, because they bore me, and secondly, because I look upon them with dread, as I would upon a mad dog. I know that your love is only a kind of appetite; while with me it would be a communion of souls. Now, look me in the face—" she no longer smiled. "I will never be your sweetheart; it is therefore useless for you to persist in your efforts. And now that I have explained, shall we be friends?

I am all for niceties. But, I love and appreciate a healthy dose of naughtiness in everything I do and everywhere I go as well. You need some sugar sweethearts as well as some total nuts to make your life a real party.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you at the Pigafetta Stadium.” He kept his distance because he wanted her too much. “And ever since that day, I knew that you were in love with another guy, and that he would sooner or later feel the same way I did.” Cutting ties with her was excruciatingly painful. “I just hoped that he would be stupid enough to let me have you,” he gasped. “But he wasn’t.

I’m falling in love with you, Dahlia. I don’t expect you to say it back after everything you’ve been through this year, but I didn’t want to go another night without you knowing how I feel. Just like I can’t go another day with you thinking I’m okay with us keeping things casual.” Por Dios. His eyes shimmer from the moon peeking through the clouds. “I missed out on a chance to make you mine before, but I don’t plan on making the same mistake again. We’re the real deal, sweetheart, and I’m done letting you believe anything else.

Sumire was a hopeless romantic, a bit set in her ways - innocent of the ways of the world, to put a nice spin on it. Start her talking and she'd go on nonstop, but if she was with someone she didn't get along with - most people in the world, in other words - she barely opened her mouth. She smoked too much, and you could count on her to lose her ticket every time she took the train. She'd get so engrossed in her thoughts at times she'd forget to eat, and she was as thin as one of those war orphans in an old Italian film - like a stick with eyes. I'd love to show you a photo of her but I don't have any. She hated having her photograph taken - no desire to leave behind for posterity a Portrait of the Artist as a Young (Wo)Man.

To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAPPY CHRISTMAS Have you gotten used to the time difference? Bloody hell,I can't sleep. I'd call,but I don't know if you're awake or doing the family thing or what. The bay fog is so thick that I can't see out my window.But if I could, I am quite certain I'd discover that I'm the only person alive in San Francisco. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: I forgot to tell you. Yesterday I saw a guy wearing an Atlanta Film Festival shirt at the hospital.I asked if he knew you,but he didn't.I also met an enormous,hair man in a cheeky Mrs. Claus getup. he was handing out gifts to the cancer patients.Mum took the attached picture. Do I always look so startled? To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: Are you awake yet? Wake up.Wake up wake up wake up. To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: re: Are you awake yet? I'm awake! Seany started jumping on my bed,like,three hours ago. We've been opening presents and eating sugar cookies for breakfast. Dad gave me a gold ring shaped like a heart. "For Daddy's sweetheart," he said. As if I'm the type of girl who'd wear a heart-shaped ring. FROM HER FATHER. He gave Seany tons of Star Wars stuff and a rock polishing kit,and I'd much rather have those.I can't beleive Mom invited him here for Christmas. She says it's because their divorce is amicable (um,no) and Seany and I need a father figure in our lives,but all they ever do is fight.This morning it was about my hair.Dad wants me to dye it back, because he thinks I look like a "common prostitute," and Mom wants to re-bleach it.Like either of them has a say. Oops,gotta run.My grandparents just arrived,and Granddad is bellowing for his bonnie lass.That would be me. P.S. Love the picture.Mrs. Claus is totally checking out your butt. And it's Merry Christmas, weirdo. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: HAHAHA@ Was it a PROMISE RING? Did your father give you a PROMISE RING? To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: Re: HAHAHA! I am so not responding to that.

I am a wheel. As I rise, Sweetheart, I carry you along with me, a heady, dizzying spin toward the sweet oceans of eternity. On wings of flames we sink into the sea of love. May be burn forever like bees in honey. Who does not wish for that delirium to last forever?

You are beautiful, sweetheart. All I did was draw what I saw." "No," Meghann said, awed by the beauty in the painting. "You painted what you made. I was pretty before you transformed me… nothing like that." She touched the vibrant, glowing face of the portrait. "You were always beautiful," Simon told her. "It wasn't transformation that enhanced your beauty." "It was love," Meghann said softly.

Ava.” Alex’s voice cracked. Red rimmed his eyes, and I could’ve sworn he was on the verge of crying. But this was Alex. He didn’t cry. He wasn’t capable of it. “Sweetheart, please. Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do anything.” “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.

But we’d have each other. And that’s enough for me.” She was crying now, the tears streaking down her face and carrying her mascara with them. I put my arms around her and wiped her cheek with my thumb. “I love you so much, sweetheart. So, so much. And it’s in part because of things like that. You’re an idealist and a romantic, and you have a beautiful soul. And I wish the world was ready to be the way you see it. I wish that the rest of the people on earth with us were capable of living up to your expectations. But they aren’t. The world is ugly, and no one wants to give anyone the benefit of the doubt about anything. When we lose our work and our reputations, when we lose our friends and, eventually, what money we have, we will be destitute. I’ve lived that life before. And I cannot let it happen to you. I will do whatever I can to prevent you from living that way. Do you hear me? I love you too much to let you live only for me.” She heaved into my body, her tears growing inside her. For a moment, I thought she might flood the backyard. “I love you,” she said. “I love you, too,” I whispered into her ear. “I love you more than anything else in the entire world.” “It’s not wrong,” Celia said. “It shouldn’t be wrong, to love you. How can it be wrong?” “It’s not wrong, sweetheart. It’s not,” I said. “They’re wrong.

Carefully bracing himself so that he wouldn't hurt her, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. He raised his head. Her haunted sapphire eyes stared at him. "Daemon?" There was so much uncertainty in her voice. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice husky with the effort not to cry. "I've missed you." Her hand moved slowly, with effort, until it rested against his face. Her lips curved into a smile. "Daemon." This time, when she said his name, it sounded like a promise, like a lovely caress.

I am serenading you sweetheart,” Kip says, “The way I figure it, you like those idiots who play guitars, so I figure I will learn how to play so I can seduce you. Jagger will understand. I mean he can’t play drums for shit, so you will have no choice but to fall madly in love with my guitar and drum playing skills.” He grins like a Cheshire cat.

You’re not even that hot from this close. If I could take it back, trust me, I would. You are nothing like what I thought you’d be.” “Thanks,” I drawled. “And here I was hoping you were in love with me.” Another fake smile. “I don’t to love, and you’re not my type anyway, sorry.” Like I’d believe that after I saw the pictures she’d taken of me half-naked. “My heart is fucking broken, sweetheart.” “As it should be, and don’t call me sweetheart.” I chuckled and shook my head. The nerve.

Gathering her courage, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and held his gaze. It wasn’t how she’d envisioned telling him, but she couldn’t let him go without saying the words. “I’m falling in love with you.” The smile died, his amused expression dissolving into shock. “What?” “Yeah. So you have to come back so I can finish the job.” A jumble of emotions swirled in the blue depths of his eyes as he stared at her. Then he broke into a wide smile and brought a hand up to cradle her cheek. “I’m coming back, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss that chance for the world.

You started that one.” Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t say anything!” “Sweetheart, your eyes said it all.” He lowered his hand from his cuffs and jerked his chin out toward the darkness lit with twinkling bug butts. “Now, behave, will you? I’m trying to watch bugs catch a mate. See if I can’t get some tips.” “Hell, make your ass glow, and I might take back everything I’ve said about you.

The last one's hard. Marriage is always a balancing act, and it's never a good idea for one partner to get too big a head, but I'm afraid that's what's going to happen here. People write a lot of things about Eric Dillon's talent, and most of it's true. But nobody writes about the important things. The fact that he's a wonderful father and the best husband a woman could have. That fact that he cares about other people so much that he sometimes scares me. That doesn't mean he's perfect, of course. It's hard living with a man who's prettier than all of your girlfriends put together. But if it weren't for Eric Dillon, I wouldn't be here tonight. He loved me when I wasn't lovable, and I guess when it comes right down to it, that's pretty much what family is all about. Thank you, sweetheart.

I continued with heavy sobs."Please Cassandra.Wake up,sweetheart.I'll do anything.I need you.You're all I've ever needed.All I've ever wanted." I pulled away and stroked my finger across her chin.She was everything, and for the first time in my life, I knew I would never want anyone elese. I caved and placed a small kis on her forehead.My lips needed to feel her just once more. I didn't deserve it but I wasn't ready to be a gentleman now. Pulling back, I looked down at her, my heart swelling in my chest. "I love you," I murmured,my head resting next to her ear.

West turned his attention back to Cassandra. “Sweetheart, none of us could bear seeing you in a one-sided marriage. Don’t expect Severin to change. You can’t love someone into loving you back.” “I understand,” Cassandra said. “But even if Tom is never able to return my feelings, he has qualities that make up for it.” “What qualities?” Devon asked, plainly bewildered. “I’ve always thought I understood you well, but this … you and Severin … it makes no sense to me.” As Cassandra considered how to explain, she heard Phoebe point out with a touch of amusement, “It’s not that improbable, is it? Mr. Severin is a very attractive man.” Both Ravenel brothers looked at her blankly. “Oh, yes,” Kathleen agreed. “Not to mention charming.” West rolled his eyes and gave Devon a resigned glance. “He’s always had it,” he said flatly. “That thing women like.” “What thing?” Devon asked. “The secret, mysterious thing I’ve always wished someone would explain so we could pretend to have it too.

Men have nothing in common with me--there is no point of contact; they have foolish little feelings and foolish little vanities and impertinences and ambitions; their foolish little life is but a laugh, a sigh, and extinction; and they have no sense. Only the Moral Sense. I will show you what I mean. Here is a red spider, not so big as a pin's head. Can you imagine an elephant being interested in him-- caring whether he is happy or isn't, or whether he is wealthy or poor, whether his sweetheart returns his love or not, whether his mother is sick or well, whether he is looked up to in society or not, whether his enemies will smite him or his friends desert him, whether his hopes will suffer blight or his political ambitions fail, whether he shall die in the bosom of his family or neglected and despised in a foreign land? These things can never be important to the elephant; they are nothing to him; he cannot shrink his sympathies to the microscopic size of them. Man is to me as the red spider is to the elephant. The elephant has nothing against the spider--he cannot get down to that remote level; I have nothing against man. The elephant is indifferent; I am indifferent.

My darling sweetheart, you ask me why I love you. I do not know. All I know is that I do love you, and beyond measure. Why do you love me? Surely a more inscrutable problem? You do not know. No one ever knows. ‘The heart has its reasons which the reason knows not of.’ We love in obedience to a powerful gravitation of our beings, and then try to explain it by recapitulating one another’s character just as a man forms his opinions first and then thinks out reasons in support. What delights me is to recall that our love has evolved. It did not suddenly spring into existence like some beautiful sprite. It developed slowly to perfection. It was forged in the white heat of our experiences. That is why it will always remain.

What New York City football team did Joe Namath play for?" "The New York City Yankees!" A roar of laughter went up from the crowd, accompanied by more than a few loud groans. Bobby Tom silenced them all with a glare. At the same time, the glitter in his eyes dared any of them to contradict her. When he was certain every person there understood his message, he turned back to Gracie and gathered her into his arms. With a tender look and a gentle brush of his lips, he said, "Exactly right, sweetheart. I had no idea you knew so much about football." And that was how every last person in Telarosa, Texas, came to understand that Bobby Tom Denton had finally and forever fallen head over heels in love.

The vibration of laughter increased, and for some reason it did even more to warm her than the heat from his big, strong body. “You know, Sister Beth, you’re a dangerous woman.” “You said that before, and I assume you’re being sarcastic.” She was too sleepy to come up with a real argument, too warm and safe for the first time in days to bestir herself. “I can’t imagine anyone more pathetically weak than I am. What could I possibly do to you?” “Sweetheart, you could make me fall in love, and that’s fatal.

My little brother's greatest fear was that the one person who meant so much to him would go away. He loved Lindsey and Grandma Lynn and Samuel and Hal, but my father kept him stepping lightly, son gingerly monitoring father every morning and every evening as if, without such vigilance, he would lose him. We stood- the dead child and the living- on either side of my father, both wanting the same thing. To have him to ourselves forver. To please us both was an impossibility. ... 'Please don't let Daddy die, Susie,' he whispered. 'I need him.' When I left my brother, I walked out past the gazebo and under the lights hanging down like berries, and I saw the brick paths branching out as I advanced. I walked until the bricks turned to flat stones and then to small, sharp rocks and then to nothing but churned earth for miles adn miles around me. I stood there. I had been in heaven long enough to know that something would be revealed. And as the light began to fade and the sky to turn a dark, sweet blue as it had on the night of my death, I saw something walking into view, so far away I could not at first make out if it was man or woman, child or adult. But as moonlight reached this figure I could make out a man and, frightened now, my breathing shallow, I raced just far enough to see. Was it my father? Was it what I had wanted all this time so deperately? 'Susie,' the man said as I approached and then stopped a few feet from where he stood. He raised his arms up toward me. 'Remember?' he said. I found myself small again, age six and in a living room in Illinois. Now, as I had done then, I placed my feet on top of his feet. 'Granddaddy,' I said. And because we were all alone and both in heaven, I was light enough to move as I had moved when I was six and in a living room in Illinois. Now, as I had done then, I placed my feet on top of his feet. 'Granddaddy,' I said. And because we were all alone and both in heaven, I was light enough to move as I had moved when I was six and he was fifty-six and my father had taken us to visit. We danced so slowly to a song that on Earth had always made my grandfather cry. 'Do you remember?' he asked. 'Barber!' 'Adagio for Strings,' he said. But as we danced and spun- none of the herky-jerky awkwardness of Earth- what I remembered was how I'd found him crying to this music and asked him why. 'Sometimes you cry,' Susie, even when someone you love has been gone a long time.' He had held me against him then, just briefly, and then I had run outside to play again with Lindsey in what seemed like my grandfather's huge backyard. We didn't speak any more that night, but we danced for hours in that timeless blue light. I knew as we danced that something was happening on Earth and in heaven. A shifting. The sort of slow-to-sudden movement that we'd read about in science class one year. Seismic, impossible, a rending and tearing of time and space. I pressed myself into my grandfather's chest and smelled the old-man smell of him, the mothball version of my own father, the blood on Earth, the sky in heaven. The kumquat, skunk, grade-A tobacco. When the music stopped, it cold have been forever since we'd begun. My grandfateher took a step back, and the light grew yellow at his back. 'I'm going,' he said. 'Where?' I asked. 'Don't worry, sweetheart. You're so close.' He turned and walked away, disappearing rapidly into spots and dust. Infinity.

Luke!...We have to be able to do cool dancing so we don't embarrass our child!" "I'm a very cool dancer," replies Luke. "Very cool indeed," "No you're not!" "I had dance lessons in my teens, you know," he retorts. "I can waltz like Fred Astire." "Waltz?" I echo derisively. "That's not cool! We need to know all the street moves. Watch me." I do a couple funky head-wriggle body-pop maneuvers, like they do on rap videos. When I look up, Luke is gaping at me. "Sweetheart," he says. "What are you doing?" "It's hip-hop!" I say. "It's street!" "Becky! Love!" Mum has pushed her way through her dancing guests to reach me. "What's wrong? Has labour started?" Honestly. My family has no idea about contemporary urban steet dance trends.

[Didn’t Sappho say her guts clutched up like this?]" Didn’t Sappho say her guts clutched up like this? Before a face suddenly numinous, her eyes watered, knees melted. Did she lactate again, milk brought down by a girl’s kiss? It’s documented torrents are unloosed by such events as recently produced not the wish, but the need, to consume, in us, one pint of Maalox, one of Kaopectate. My eyes and groin are permanently swollen, I’m alternatingly brilliant and witless —and sleepless: bed is just a swamp to roll in. Although I’d cream my jeans touching your breast, sweetheart, it isn’t lust; it’s all the rest of what I want with you that scares me shitless.

There's no present left. This is the problem for a novelist. [The problem] is the present is gone. We're all living in the future constantly . . . Back in the day Leo Tolstoy -- what a sweetheart of a count and of a writer -- in the 1860's he wanted to write about the Napoleonic Campaign, about 1812. If you write about 1812 in 1860, a horse is still a horse. A carriage is still a carriage. Obviously, there are been some technological advancements, et cetera, but you don't have to worry about explaining the next killer [iPhone] app or the next Facebook because right now things are happening so quickly. ("Gary Shteyngart: Finding 'Love' In A Dismal Future", NPR interview, August 2, 2010)

Grandma smiled brightly. “How lovely! It seems your whore has arrived.” Jake groaned and covered his face with his hands. There was no way out of it. His grandmother was going to get him shot. A&E women scorned, here I come. “Excuse me?” Aileen put her hands on her hips and did a weird head nod at Grandma, and nearly teetered off her high heels. Oh, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. Grandma reached out and patted Aileen’s arm. “Sweetheart, I’m the one with hearing aids, not you. I called you a whore. Would you like me to spell it for you, too?” She nudged Jake. “What did you do? Find her at a high school career fair?” And then in a horrifyingly loud voice she began spelling. “W-H-O-R-E.

Love and marriage are about work and compromise. They're about seeing someone for what he is, being dissapointed , and deciding to stick around anyway. They're about commitment and comfort, not some kind of sudden, hysterical recognition'. 'That's not what I want. Disspointment and comfort is not what I want'. 'Why not? Because you expect it to be magical and mystical? Because you don't want to work?' 'Why can't it be magical? Why can't it be mystical?' 'Because if you count on magic and mysticism, then as soon as shit happens, as soon as life interferes, as soon as your stepson treats you badly, or your husband's ex-wife has a fit about something, or your baby dies, as soon as life happens, the magic will disappear and you'll be left with nothing. You can't count on magic. Trust me, I know. Sweetheart, little girl, you can't count on magic'.

Hmm.” Ellie blatantly brushed her off, rolling her eyes and then skewering them into Braden. “Are you coming to dinner this afternoon?” I watched the muscle in his jaw flex. He definitely wasn’t amused by his sister’s attitude. “Of course.” His eyes travelled back to me. “I’ll see you both there.” “Joss can’t make it. She has stuff to do.” He frowned at me. “It’s just a few hours. Surely you can squeeze us in?” In response, Vicky pressed closer to Braden. “I’d love to have dinner, Braden.” Braden gave her a somewhat patronizing pat on the hand. “Sorry, sweetheart, it’s just family.” Three things happened at once. Ellie choked on her laughter, Vicky reared back like he’d slapped her, and I felt a panic attack coming on.

The first sixth-grade assembly.” I look up at him. “Huh?” “That’s the first time I saw you. You were sitting in the row in the front of me. I thought you were cute.” I laugh. “Nice try.” It’s so endearingly Peter to make up stuff to try and sound romantic. He keeps going. “Your hair was really long and you had a headband with a bow. I always liked your hair, even back then.” “Okay, Peter,” I say, reaching up and patting him on his cheek. He ignores me. “Your backpack had your name written on it in glitter letters. I’d never heard of the name Lara Jean before.” My mouth falls open. I hot-glued those glitter letters to my backpack myself! It took me forever trying to get them straight enough. I’d forgotten all about that backpack. It was my prized possession. “The principal started picking random people to come on stage and play a game for prizes. Everybody was raising their hands, but your hair got caught in your chair and you were trying to untangle it, so you didn’t get picked. I remember thinking maybe I should help you, but then I thought that would be weird.” “How do you remember all that?” I ask in amazement. Smiling, he shrugs. “I don’t know. I just do.” Kitty’s always saying how origin stories are important. At college, when people ask us how we met, how will we answer them? The shorty story is, we grew up together. But that’s more Josh’s and my story. High school sweethearts? That’s Peter and Gen’s story. So what’s ours, then? I suppose I’ll say it all started with a love letter.

Of course she loved the komita more -- he must have been her sweetheart, her first big love. Most likely, they made plans together, imagined a little house, a pair of children. She wouldn't keep his diary for so many years otherwise. And then, with their love peaking, he was killed. I know that much without yet having read the end. At first she felt betrayed. He'd put some strange ideals, brotherhood and freedom, before his love for her. She hated him for that. But then one morning, almost a year after his death, the postman brought a package with foreign stamps. She read the diary, still hating him. She read it every day. She learned each letter by heart, and with the months her hatred thinned, and in the end his death turned their love ideal, doomed not to die. Yes, that's what I've come to think now. Their love was foolish, childish, sugar-sweet, the kind of love that, if you are lucky to lose it, flares up like a thatched roof but burns as long as you live. While our love...I am her husband, she is my wife.

October 17, 1946 D’Arline, I adore you, sweetheart. I know how much you like to hear that — but I don't only write it because you like it — I write it because it makes me warm all over inside to write it to you. It is such a terribly long time since I last wrote to you — almost two years but I know you'll excuse me because you understand how I am, stubborn and realistic; and I thought there was no sense to writing. But now I know my darling wife that it is right to do what I have delayed in doing, and that I have done so much in the past. I want to tell you I love you. I want to love you. I always will love you. I find it hard to understand in my mind what it means to love you after you are dead — but I still want to comfort and take care of you — and I want you to love me and care for me. I want to have problems to discuss with you — I want to do little projects with you. I never thought until just now that we can do that. What should we do. We started to learn to make clothes together — or learn Chinese — or getting a movie projector. Can't I do something now? No. I am alone without you and you were the "idea-woman" and general instigator of all our wild adventures. When you were sick you worried because you could not give me something that you wanted to and thought I needed. You needn’t have worried. Just as I told you then there was no real need because I loved you in so many ways so much. And now it is clearly even more true — you can give me nothing now yet I love you so that you stand in my way of loving anyone else — but I want you to stand there. You, dead, are so much better than anyone else alive. I know you will assure me that I am foolish and that you want me to have full happiness and don't want to be in my way. I'll bet you are surprised that I don't even have a girlfriend (except you, sweetheart) after two years. But you can't help it, darling, nor can I — I don't understand it, for I have met many girls and very nice ones and I don't want to remain alone — but in two or three meetings they all seem ashes. You only are left to me. You are real. My darling wife, I do adore you. I love my wife. My wife is dead. Rich. PS Please excuse my not mailing this — but I don't know your new address.

You think I married you because I lost when we drew straws?” He chuckled softly. “Oh, Meri. Sweetheart. I won the straw draw. I didn’t lose it.” She stared at him, not comprehending the difference. “What are you saying?” Travis grinned. “When we sat around the table that night, we didn’t decide to draw straws because none of us wanted to marry you. We drew straws because all of us wanted to marry you.” Meredith blinked up at her husband. Could it be true? Had she been a prize, not a chore? “And I’ll tell you something else.” He dipped his head and lowered his voice, his grin turning downright mischievous. “But you gotta swear not to tell the others.” She nodded. “I rigged the contest.” “What?” “I made sure that I was the one who ended up with the short straw.” Meredith’s pulse quickened. “Why?” Travis shrugged a bit, and if she didn’t know better, she could have sworn his skin pinkened a bit under his tan. “At the time I told myself that you were my responsibility. That because of our previous encounter, I should be the one to marry you.” A responsibility. Of course. Meredith forced her chin to stay raised and her back straight despite her yearning to curl up into a protective ball. “But I was fooling myself.” Travis’s gaze met hers, and she caught her breath. The way he looked at her, it was . . . was . . . “Even then I was falling in love with you.” It was love. “I couldn’t stand the idea of one of my brothers marrying you. You belonged with me. I knew it. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it. And over the last several weeks, I’ve only grown more sure. I love you, Meredith. I thank God every day for bringing you back into my life.

Meanings don't just affect the way we feel; they affect all of our relationships and interactions. Some people think the first ten years of a relationship is just the beginning; that they're just now getting to know each other, and it's really exciting. It's an opportunity to go deeper. Other people could be ten days into a relationship, and the first time they have an argument, they think it's the end. Now tell me, if you think this is the beginning of a relationship, are you going to behave the same way as if it were the end? That one slight shift in perception, in meaning, can change your whole life in a moment. In the beginning of a relationship, if you're totally in love and attracted, what will you do for the other person? The answer is: anything! If he or she asks you to take out the trash, you might leap to your feet and say, "Anything that lights you up, sweetheart!" But after seven days, seven years, or seventy years, people say things like, "What the hell do you think I am, your janitor?!" And they wonder what happened to the passion in their life. I've often shared with couples having trouble in their relationships that if you do what you did in the beginning of the relationship, there wont be an end! Because in the beginning of the relationship, you were a giver, not an accountant. You weren't weighing constantly the meaning of who was giving more. Your entire focus was just lighting up that person, and his or her happiness made you feel like your life was filled with joy.

Close your eyes and stare into the dark. My father's advice when I couldn't sleep as a little girl. He wouldn't want me to do that now but I've set my mind to the task regardless. I'm staring beyond my closed eyelids. Though I lie still on the ground, I feel perched at the highest point I could possibly be; clutching at a star in the night sky with my legs dangling above cold black nothingness. I take one last look at my fingers wrapped around the light and let go. Down I go, falling, then floating, and, falling again, I wait for the land of my life. I know now, as I knew as that little girl fighting sleep, that behind her gauzed screen of shut-eye, lies colour. It taunts me, dares me to open my eyes and lose sleep. Flashes of red and amber, yellow and white speckle my darkness. I refuse to open them. I rebel and I squeeze my eyelids together tighter to block out the grains of light, mere distractions that keep us awake but a sign that there's life beyond. But there's no life in me. None that I can feel, from where I lie at the bottom of the staircase. My heart beats quicker now, the lone fighter left standing in the ring, a red boxing glove pumping victoriously into the air, refusing to give up. It's the only part of me that cares, the only part that ever cared. It fights to pump the blood around to heal, to replace what I'm losing. But it's all leaving my body as quickly as it's sent; forming a deep black ocean of its own around me where I've fallen. Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Never have enough time here, always trying to make our way there. Need to have left here five minutes ago, need to be there now. The phone rings again and I acknowledge the irony. I could have taken my time and answered it now. Now, not then. I could have taken all the time in the world on each of those steps. But we're always rushing. All, but my heart. That slows now. I don't mind so much. I place my hand on my belly. If my child is gone, and I suspect this is so, I'll join it there. There.....where? Wherever. It; a heartless word. He or she so young; who it was to become, still a question. But there, I will mother it. There, not here. I'll tell it; I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry I ruined your chances - our chances of a life together.But close your eyes and stare into the darkness now, like Mummy is doing, and we'll find our way together. There's a noise in the room and I feel a presence. 'Oh God, Joyce, oh God. Can you hear me, love? Oh God. Oh God, please no, Hold on love, I'm here. Dad is here.' I don't want to hold on and I feel like telling him so. I hear myself groan, an animal-like whimper and it shocks me, scares me. I have a plan, I want to tell him. I want to go, only then can I be with my baby. Then, not now. He's stopped me from falling but I haven't landed yet. Instead he helps me balance on nothing, hover while I'm forced to make the decision. I want to keep falling but he's calling the ambulance and he's gripping my hand with such ferocity it's as though I'm all he has. He's brushing the hair from my forehead and weeping loudly. I've never heard him weep. Not even when Mum died. He clings to my hand with all of his strength I never knew his old body had and I remember that I am all he has and that he, once again just like before, is my whole world. The blood continues to rush through me. Rushing, rushing, rushing. We are always rushing. Maybe I'm rushing again. Maybe it's not my time to go. I feel the rough skin of old hands squeezing mine, and their intensity and their familiarity force me to open my eyes. Lights fills them and I glimpse his face, a look I never want to see again. He clings to his baby. I know I lost mind; I can't let him lose his. In making my decision I already begin to grieve. I've landed now, the land of my life. And still my heart pumps on. Even when broken it still works.