If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.
To find out if she really loved me, I hooked her up to a lie detector. And just as I suspected, my machine was broken.
Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.
I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.
I love being in love, but I also love other things, like not being jealous, overly sensitive, or needy.
Our love was a two-person game. At least until one of us died, and the other became a murderer.
She asked if I loved another woman, so I answered honestly and said, “Dinner was great, but I could go for dessert.
If I could bronze my love, it’d be worthy of a silver medal.
She gave me money to buy condoms, and instead I bought a book of baby names. That’s life. That’s love. That’s fiscally irresponsible.
Love is inaudible—until you hear it. And once you do, you’ll never forget the sound of her voice.
I love like I’m thirsty. Can I offer you a tall glass of Sahara sand?
I unwrapped my love for her like one might unwrap leftovers. Gotta eat up the old stuff first, as a cannibal might say in a retirement home.
Love is a banana. First you peel it, and then you roll on the condom.
She told me she loved me. She told me a lot of things. Some of those things were true, and some of those may or may not have been true. It’s kind of hard to tell, because to be honest, I wasn’t listening.
We had an unspoken love for one another. Probably because she’d never talk to me or return my phone calls or texts.
I’m a dog lover and sex addict. Those two things are unrelated.
I am in love, and the river is beginning to ice over. I’d better go drown myself before I freeze to death.
I am the Trolley of Love. Free rides before noon and after 11:58 am!
I make love like a snake disguised as an elephant and a donkey. But I mustn’t talk about sexual congress and Congress simultaneously.
I love that she loves me a 10, on a 5-point scale. Well, I know it’s a 5-point scale, though I asked her on a 1-100 scale.
Love is like encountering a forest and having to chop down every tree but one. Oh, and you have to chop down each tree by hugging it until it falls.