lovers

...he's just so out-of-this-world. They don't make them like that anymore.

All discarded lovers should be given a second chance, but with somebody else.

...the older I get, the more I believe that if love is to be judged by most of its visible effects, it looks more like hatred than friendship.

Best (male-female) friends hardly differ from lovers, but not too many lovers are best friends.It's just ironical that you are in love and want to spend the rest of your life with someone who is not good enough to be your best friend.

To be friends is a beautiful thing, Tessa, and I do not scorn it, but I have hoped for a long time now that we might be more than friends.

Her skin hummed with anticipation of Jaxon__ touch. She squeezed her thighs as her womb clenched. This could all go brilliantly or it could all go to hell.

My fingers gripped his sweaty T-shirt. I kept kissingEagan until he groaned softly in his sleep.__ love you,_ I murmured against his lips.I moved away from him. I forced myself to stand, Igrabbed my guitar case and I left.On the bus, I kept licking my lips; I tasted him, the saltof his sweat, and a hint of cinnamon.

I love a boy with sun-kissed hair,With ocean storms in his bright blue eyes,I love a boy who drinks my tears when I cry.

Be drunk in love and high on life.

I'm still the same guy you knew five minutes ago.

We were friends, never paramours. A lover who is enigmatic will most likely prove to be a cataclysm waiting to happen. But a charming friend whose usual warmth is raveled through moments of cool inscrutability can be an intriguing companion.

Souls from the same star find it impossible to resist dancing to the tune of inevitability.

When your lover is your best friend_then you know you__e one of the few and the fortunate.

Get up, Shahrzad al-Khayzuran. You kneel before no one. Least of all me.

Sometimes your friends are your lovers, or have been at one time.

She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they__ loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?

Reciprocation was a pretty powerful stimulant to the imagination.

Ridges of muscle on his stomach rose under his skin like divisions on a slab of chocolate. He held her close by the light of an oil lamp, and he shone as though he had been polished with a high-wax body polish.