Romantic Quotes Novels & Stories

“Everything else fades.” She looked at him then, fully—his messy hair, his bare chest, the softness in his jade green eyes. “You know,” she said, tearing off a piece of croissant and offering it to him, “I used to think romance was all about grand gestures.” “And now?” “Now I think it’s about quiet things. Like how you remember I hate tea without mint. And how you always kiss me good morning before I even open my eyes.” Drystan leaned forward, touching his lips gently to hers. “That’s because loving you isn’t something I do. It’s something I am.”

~ Helena ~ I finally finished all the work at 6.10 p.m. Stacy had already finished her work too. So, we were about to go home together and used the bus as our transportation. I took my bouquet. My smile bloomed since Ethan was thoughtful and caring to send the flower. My smile was wider as my mind recalled he sent the rose since the color reminded him of my lips. I touched my lips with my pointer finger and smiled. “It is said not to advise those who fall in love. The quote is true.”

She feels a seismic and comforting wave wash over her, like a warm and enveloping cocoon from deep within the soul. This simple yet potent act of romance was like a tranquil oasis in the vast desert of existence, and it fills her to the brim with an overwhelming sense of being cherished and protected. As his kiss lingers for a precious, heart-fluttering moment, she couldn't help but let a radiant smile adorn her lips, her heart swelling with an inexhaustible wellspring of contentment.

"You became a shoulder that I can lean on, one I would love to be with," "In other words Roman, I love you, I love you so much that it makes me scared of a day I might lose you," "I am addicted to you, yes I never thought I would say this and this was why it took me too long to say it," "But I want you to know, regardless and especially in a romantic gesture," it read, having me cry at her words. How can someone like this want to kill me, it was getting harder to believe and my head was beginning to explode.

“Red and white symbolizes our everlasting love and yellow for welcoming you” “How come you are so thoughtful and romantic?” “Huhhh (heavy sigh), how can you say I am romantic when I can’t seduce my girl yet” saying that he decreased the distance between them, he slowly stroked her flushed cheeks. He pinched her rosy cheeks, he pulled her and claimed her lips its started slow by stroking her lips with his tongue and pecking but when she started to return the kiss it turned into a deep French kiss.

— What got you to write ' forget me '? — Oh, one of those famous breakups that leave you with nasty scars that cosmetic surgery can't do anything about. — I can totally relate. I have just finished a heartbreaking story. I was unfairly taken out of the beautiful scenery we were drawing, well ..., Judith said before looking at Pénélope as if waiting for female support

She had been so cold for so long, and now she could feel a burning desire rushing through her, bright and overwhelming. When he lay back on the bed and spoke her name into the quiet, something inside her stirred, soft at first and then insistent. His awareness of her felt like a hand brushing against her soul. Every time he shifted, every time his breath changed, she thought it rippled through her, a quiet pull that made her drift closer without quite meaning to.

I said, trying to rise, but he pushed down my shoulders gently. “Because I want our love to bloom even in the winter. When all other love is withering, I want ours to wake to the beauty of a new day, and bloom beautifully. Even in winter.” He said, and finally… “Awww!” Everyone died from the words of their so-called Mr. Romantic. “You don’t remember, but this was the day we started dating.” He said, and the people began to clap. The whispers also started afresh. “I guess we’ll meet after this. Have a nice day.” He bent to place a kiss on my cheek.

She beamed at me from across the room, her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm. I took a deep breath, rolling my eyes at the sudden festivity. Valentine’s Day, a day to be reminded that romance could be a fairy tale for others but a tired story for me. The dream’s ghost whispered at the back of my mind, and I shoved it aside with a sigh. Emma pointed at the poster plastered near the bulletin board. It featured two clocks perfectly synchronized, below the tagline: The Perfect Lover. "Isn't it romantic?" Emma gushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “If I could, I wish... well, maybe someday I’ll find someone like that.” She looked wistful, as if picturing a romance pulled straight from the movi

I stroke her arm, from elbow to wrist, again and again. — I'll never forget tonight, she says. — Me neither. — Even in a hundred years. — In a hundred years, I'll be dead. — Then I'll remember for both of us. I laugh softly. — You're romantic. — So are you, you know. — No. I'm pragmatic. — You're romantic. You hide it, but you are. — Maybe. — Definitely. The hotel appears. Magnificent, illuminated, majestic. Its windows shine like benevolent eyes. Its marbles gleam under the moon.