Quotes on Romantic

Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget.

She may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’…but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.

If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, If I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience… would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?

It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.

This was love: a string of coincidences that gathered significance and became miracles.

I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.

Judge nothing, you will be happy. Forgive everything, you will be happier. Love everything, you will be happiest.

I'd cut up my heart for you to wear if you wanted it.

How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss, and all was said.

Life is the flower for which love is the honey.

When you loved me I gave you the whole sun and stars to play with. I gave you eternity in a single moment, strength of the mountains in one clasp of your arms, and the volume of all the seas in one impulse of your soul.

ever thine, ever mine, ever ours

Being an American means never having to say you're sorry.

There is no greater glory than to die for love.

Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything.

...The girl raised her eyes to see who was passing by the window, and that casual glance was the beginning of a cataclysm of love that still had not ended half a century later.

Her life with others no longer interests him. He wants only her stalking beauty, her theatre of expressions. He wants the minute secret reflection between them, the depth of field minimal, their foreignness intimate like two pages of a closed book.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago. Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.

Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.