Wlw Love Quotes

I fell in love with you the day that I met you, and then I fell in love with the person you remembered you are. I got to fall in love with you twice. That’s— that’s magic. You’re the first thing I’ve believed in since— since I don’t even remember, okay, you’re— you’re movies and destiny and every stupid, impossible thing, and it’s not because of the fucking train, it’s because of you. It’s because you fight and you care and you’re always kind but never easy, and you won’t let anything take that away from you. You’re my hero, Jane. I don’t care if you think you’re not one. You are.

I have done some of the best work of my life because of you. And I know you have done some of the best work of your life because of me. I don’t know a better way to explain what love means to two people like us.

What do you say when The Girl tells you that you're The Girl to her?

Darling, darling. I live in you, and you would die for me. I love you so.

She’s glad it’s Shara. Nobody else would have felt important enough.

You were the only one it could be.

What do you want? I want to stop living in fear. I want to stop coming up with excuses about why I'm not interested in dating. I want my family to know me. I want to get to learn more about Lisa. I want to stop feeling like everything I am is inadequate or makes me unworthy of love because of something I can't help.

I told you once I’m not a book to be read,” Ayla continued. “I take it back. I’m a book. Read me.

A tiny pathetic thought: the warmth of Ayla's touch rivaled the afternoon sun.

The first time I let myself fall, it wasn’t hot at all. It was cold. January. There was ice on the sidewalks— at least, that’s what I’d heard. But this girl felt like nectarines and balconies to me. She felt like everything. She felt like a long winter, then a nervous spring, then a sticky summer, and then those last days you never thought you’d get to, the ones that spread themselves out, out, out until they feel like they go on forever. So, August is a person.

And to the girl who kissed me,’ she says, ‘I have done some of the best work of my life because of you. And I know you have done some of the best work of your life because of me. I don’t know a better way to explain what love means to two people like us.

Shara’s always been this person. ‘This is what I’ve been trying to tell you’, she wrote on a card stuck under an auditorium seat. Shara’s not nice. Shara’s so many more important things than nice.

Everyone’s assumption is for women and men to be together, and yet here we are, human girls, the Demon King’s concubines. Surely love between two women wouldn’t be so strange?

Being a woman attracted to another woman was confusing; a constant game of comparison and lust. You never quite knew whether you were jealous of their body or just jealous of the person who got to touch it.

There are things that don’t make sense about me. I don’t know if I belong here. How can that be possible, to feel estranged from a place where everyone loves you? To owe your life to a place and still want to run? I’ve been trying and trying to figure out what it is about me that makes me feel this way and why it feels so deep and so big that it must be most of me, the skin stretching between my knuckles and across my shoulders and then the bones under them too. Knowing that I couldn’t have you if I wanted to—that stings almost the same. It’s almost the same feeling. They’re right beside each other. What do they have in common?

She links arms with Georgia to dance and sends up her only prayer of the past four years: May they always come back to each other

What it would be like to have someone bite down a smile when they point and say, "Yeah, her. She's mine" To live alongside someone, to kiss and be kissed, to be wanted

Oh, she deserves so many good things, and I want to be one of them

Just because the straights in Hollywood don’t know how to tell my story doesn’t mean it’s not out there.

She flipped her hair over to the opposite side. My stomach flipped over to its opposite side.

And Delilah had gotten through life by putting herself first, only concentrating herself with what she knew was true, because she’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t control anyone but herself. She couldn’t change anyone’s mind, couldn’t make someone love her who had no interest in doing so, and couldn’t keep someone from leaving her if that’s what they wanted to do.

Moonlight silvered the long line of Lucy’s back as she sank to her knees—not submissively, as one conquered, but as a queen kneels at a coronation.

She hadn't anticipated Maud Blyth. She didn't know how anyone ever could.

When Shara looks at her like that, all airy and sly, it makes Chloe think of the first time her mama brought home an icebox pie. It was strawberries and cream, her mom’s favorite, and the whole thing seemed to be a feat of mechanical physics. It didn’t make sense how the strawberries held effortlessly together when you sliced it, or how the cloud of meringue sat weightless on top. She remembers studying the layers from the side and having the inexplicable thought, This is a Shara Wheeler kind of pretty. God. Shall I compare thee to an icebox pie? Couldn’t be gayer if she tried.

Being with girls is the same—it’s shameless and gritty, it’s not as soft as people make it out to be. It’s soft with men too. Even unknowingly, we diminish ourselves little by little to feel more loved. As girls, we don’t need to diminish ourselves when we’re together, we fit in every sense of the word. It doesn’t matter if we’re bruised, bloody, or empty, we become these things together—we fit.

Kaede told herself that what she felt was only a little seed; she would simply not water it. It wouldn't grow any larger than this tiny prickle of attraction. She wouldn't let it. But that night after everyone had left, and they had all spread their blankets on the floor of the hall, Kaede lay awake for some time, trying to make out the sound of Taisin's breathing in the dark.

The silent times were the hardest. That was when I had to mourn. I would close one eye and look at my phone, imagine it cracking in half, the way people sitting shiva ripped a piece of clothing. I didn't want to mourn. I didn't want to accept my loss -- not only the loss of communication, but the loss of an idea that my mother was going to be the one to change. It made me feel like a loser. It meant I had wanted something and hadn't gotten it, that I'd been, in some way, rejected. It meant my needs were too big for this world.

Even a love in mourning still had sparks in it.

Come with me this morning to the church within our hearts, where the bells are always ringing, and the preacher whose name is love — shall intercede for us!

I wish I were with you, dear, sitting by the fire undressing, as we used to sit; and I would try to tell you what I feel. I do not know how I am writing this even to you. I am afraid to stop, or I should tear up the letter, and I don’t want to stop, for I do so want to tell you all.

In her anniversary card, Daisy wrote: If they say we don't exist, that they can't see us anywhere except rotten corners, in perverse bodies, how come I can see you and hold you and you're holy; how come I can love you and home you and you're there, in flesh, in my mind, in my blood; how come I keep waking up in this love and feel rested? What else to do now then, when a love like this finds you? What else but praise? What else but dance?

Odette gave a small smile, like the kiss J. M. Barrie talked about in Peter Pan. That was one of the first things Rin had thought when she’d first met Odette; the kiss that girls hold on to and won’t give to the world except the soul who matches theirs. Odette had been familiar even as a stranger.

She died scared and in pain, and I felt it.

Her voice is liquid, streaming, sultry and cool like shade spooling over the edge of her mouth on a hot day.

Sounds like you'd do a bunch," Liv breathed. Beneath the brim of her hat, I found her eyes. "You would not rest," I said.

You were only – Alcestis?” “Yes” She reached out suddenly and put one sticky, sparking hand on my knee. “How lovely,” she said with the force of a spear thudding into the earth. Then, wondering: “How strange.

You know, Mimosa,” Nadia says, the name beautiful in her mouth as it’s never been in anyone else’s, “I think we’ll manage,” and then she kisses her like she means it; like solid proof; like, finally, coming home.

In fact, a whole ex-girlfriend themed ghost train sounded genuinely terrifying. You'd get in and instead of a mummy mannequin covered in toilet roll popping out, it's her and you look down and you're wearing a baggy old jumper with a stain on the front. You turn the corner and you find yourself being forced to scroll through her Instagram and there are replies from a girl with tattoos and she looks exactly like the celebrity your ex fancies most. Right at the end, they play a video on a loop that's just screenshots of all the pathetic texts you sent when you were too heartbroken to have any dignity.

Did Automae . . . feel things like that? Could an Automa girl feel that tug in her lower belly, that fishhook pull, making her want more, want harder, want deeper, want sweeter? Want hands in her hair, on her waist, on her hips, want—? Don’t go there, Ayla told herself, but she couldn’t help it. Yesterday afternoon in the river, she had seen the whole of Crier’s body, and the yearning that drummed through her wasn’t anything she’d felt before, and her own reaction wasn’t anything she’d felt before, the oceanic pulse between her hips, the things she wanted. Skin on skin, fingers intertwined. She’d tracked the drops of water trailing down Crier’s throat, her collarbone, the curve of her back, down her bare legs when she climbed back up onto the riverbank, and looking hadn’t felt like enough. Did Crier feel the same? Could Crier feel the same? Maybe Ayla already knew the answer. The way Crier had touched her in Elderell, hands flying from Ayla’s arms to her face, fingers raking through her hair, lips parting . . .

She spoke freely of you one time. Only once - when she proposed a visit from your ruling council. Murishani jested with her when she mentioned your aversion to meat, teased that she would change her ways for you." He stared at Flowridia directly now; behind the shade of her hair, she could feel it. "All she said, quite sincerely, was, 'perhaps I shall.

If you start freaking out, call me and we’ll go for a walk. Or we’ll ride the night buses. We’ll smoke some pot and get the giggles and eat a whole bag of chips. We’ll walk up and down the alleys looking for treasure and avoiding skunks. Any of those things. None of those things. Whatever you can think of. In fact, you don’t even have to think about all the silly things. I can do that too. Your girlfriend will be in charge of distractions.

They had met at the club and Bertha had fallen in love with her, as she always did fall in love with beautiful women who had something strange about them.

Her love for you was the only redeeming trait I ever knew in her. You tamed a monster. And her sacrifice, in service of you, was as kind and poetic an end as she could have deserved.

It's uncommon, far from unheard of. The elves and the angels have done it since the dawn of time, penning great epics of beautiful women loving beautiful women. No need for shame, little angel. You are full of surprises." Tears did leak from Flowridia's eyes, but of relief. No more fear.

Alex neigt den Kopf. Ihr Mund trifft auf meinen. Und dann sterben meine Bedenken. Sie sterben alle auf einmal.

I think it's nice," Elle argued. "If you don't believe in love, what's left to believe in?

You said your mom got rid of your grandma’s holiday decorations, so I just thought . . .” Elle shrugged. “I guess I didn’t do much actual thinking. You could’ve already had a tree and ornaments, or Brendon might’ve, but I wanted to make sure you had something. I know the tree is kind of ugly, and none of the ornaments match but if—” “It’s perfect,” Darcy whispered.

Loose strands of blond hair caught the moonlight, creating a haloed glow around her when she turned her face up to the sky. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Darcy wasn’t looking at the sky.

And maybe Violet would again be easy to abandon, and maybe she'd end up with yet more rings on her hand to remind her of it. [Maud] absently touched her breastbone, as if aware of the locket's absence.  Better thumb rings, surely, than jewelry worn as a reminder that everyday you ached and loved and settled for less than what you wanted.

Cathy believed that the more she and Edie thirsted, the deeper their roots would snare inside each other. They would find inside each other's bodies all the water they wanted.

I don't know what I meant, but I'm glad I said it. I decide that heaven is saying anything that makes this woman smile like that

My Hamlet,” I say. It doesn’t matter. Right now, she’s all that matters. “I may just be a cowardly skull, but I’m here,

Odette gave a small smile, like the kiss J. M. Barrie talked about in Peter Pan. That was one of the first things Rin had thought when she’d first met Odette; the kiss that girls hold on to and won’t give to the world except the soul who matches theirs. Odette had been familiar even as a stranger.

My love,” she said softly. “The woman who built me a circus so I could fly. And I have the honor”—she drew in nearer, their dancing forgotten—“of seeing you shine, Ringmaster.

It’s always been such a lukewarm encouragement between us—you are essential to me and I am okay to you—but lukewarm is about as hot as I get.

I am not in love with you, Nell Barber,” and it was the kindest and most legitimizing thing you could say, as if you could have loved me, as if you only happened not to, as if you only didn’t, not couldn’t, not wouldn’t dare.

Lose me as you lost your cat, your bearings, your wherewithal, your identity. Lose me as you lose autumn each year to ice, as you lose a year each year. Lose me as you lose a little weight and your bones show. Lose me like a wet food dropped face down. Both earrings. Any key. Lose me like what blew off the ferry. Lose me like the dollhouse furniture you kept since childhood and in adulthood misplaced while moving. Lose me like your prize mountain you saw once and can’t remember where it was, what country. Lose me the way you lose fog. Lose me and fuck you.

It’s acceptable to admire you. Admiration is the natural starting point and I did start there. Admiration is love without expectation and I’d be psychotic to expect.

And Isabella made a noise, just a slight noise. And at that, I began to unwind

Labels and boxes don’t matter any more when you always want to be with someone, hear her whole life story, or trace your fingers through her hair when you’re worn out after making love.

Sometimes love isn't enough

I stand in the window and watch the moon. She is thin and lustreless, But I love her. I know the moon, And this is an alien city.

So, my love, what is it you want to ask me? If you want my hand in marriage I just figured that was an inevitability by this point-" "No! I mean, not that I don't want... I just haven't... okay, stop. Let me start over.

Wouldn’t they be mad if we said no? Or if I stayed?” “I don’t know, but how they feel is irrelevant. You and I have a life to live, and nothing will get in the way of that. Not a death machine, not an entire Selenthian fleet, not a town full of angry and terrified people under the rule of a sociopath, and absolutely not any small-time government official who thinks we’re at their beck and call. We do these things on our terms, and if they want to fight us on that, I am more than willing to take it right to them just like I did with all the others who stood in our way.” “I guess there are benefits to falling in love with a pirate queen,” Maaya teased, managing a small laugh. “Pirate queen, huh? I like the sound of that. But what is a pirate queen to do when she’s already found her treasure?” “Oh, please.

Woman, so gentle in my arms Loving, you have opened to me Fierce, my own dark heart And found therein and to me reflected My source of light.

Very dramatic" Percy said. "Maybe next time she'll consider theater instead of genocide