lovers

The first six months are what I call the La La Land phase. This is what a lot of romantic novels, songs, and movies are based upon. Enjoy the courtship, nights out, and fun. You will eventually come back to reality.

Love is like being on a small boat in the middle of the sea with no compass and no one to rely on except each other.

I love to hear the story of how stars sacrifice their life to receive only one memorable kiss from the Earth.

Contained within the breadth of my heart where you belong unto me and I unto you.

I let you discover my skin but you found a way under.

How not to search that space where, for a time span lasting from dusk to dawn, two beings have no other reason to exist than to expose themselves totally to each other- totally, integrally, absolutely- so that their common solitude may appear not in front of their own eyes but in front of ours, yes, how not to look there and how not to rediscover "the negative community, the community of those who have no community"?

It__ one thing to fall in love. It__ another to feel someone else fall in love with you, and to feel a responsibility toward that love.

Many women have tried to compare to you, but they are only flawed imitations. You deserve the worlds admiration.

Love is indeed its own hallucinogenic affecting the mind, heart and mood

I knew I loved youwhen 'home' went from being a placeto being a person.

My pulses quicken. The thunderous sound of my heart beating fills my eardrums. I__ jealous of a dead girl. Why? Because I think I__ in love with her boyfriend.

where oh where, in what cemetery of the heavens do the tender words of lovers rest when they love no more? (Searching for author)

I wither slowly in thine arms; here at the quiet limit of the world, a white hair'd shadow roaming like a dream.

Laughter is a gift for lovers.

our two postcard hearts were frightened in unison under the tenacious look of the unfathomable old man who kept on eating one banana after another

Better in Hell with me than alone in Heaven.

I know my breasts, smallas plums, would win no blue ribbons.But in your hands they tremble and fillwith song like plump, white birds.

I had tried to express myself, but couldn't do that because I was afraid that it will hurt someone. I never knew that not expressing myself hurt myself.