In real love you want the other person’s good. In romantic love you want the other person.
Kisses, even to the air, are beautiful.
All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
The curse of the romantic is a greed for dreams, an intensity of expectation that, in the end, diminishes the reality.
The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes – or just by staring into space.
Middle age is when a guy keeps turning off lights for economical rather than romantic reasons.
I’m still a bit of a romantic and an idealist and hopelessly naive.
Everyone who knows me knows that I’m a hopeless romantic who listens to love ballads and doo-wop songs all the time.
There are two births: the one when light, First strikes the new awakened sense; The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from thence, When you loved me and I loved you, Then both of us were born anew.
My dearly beloved if I am to die today and never see the sweet face of you I want you to know that I am no great man and am lucky to have such a woman as you.
Remember, beneath every cynic there lies a romantic, and probably an injured one.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have lost at all.
I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.
I believe I can even yet remember when I saw the stars for the first time.
The romantic love we feel toward the opposite sex is probably one extra help from God to bring you together, but that’s it. All the rest of it, the true love, is the test.
I think romance is anything honest. As long as it’s honest, it’s so disarming.
The sound of a kiss is not so loud as that of a cannon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer.
When you look at me, when you think of me, I am in paradise.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule.
Some say that the age of chivalry is past, that the spirit of romance is dead. The age of chivalry is never past, so long as there is a wrong left unredressed on earth.
A man’s kiss is his signature.
