Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else’s dream.
Like some wines our love could neither mature nor travel.
What made me run away was doubtless not so much the fear of settling down, but of settling down permanently in something ugly.
If everybody lived as I do, surely the writing of romance novels would never have come into being.
Everyone belongs to everyone else.
Family, monogamy, romance. Everywhere exclusiveness, a narrow channelling of impulse and energy.
Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.
Patience is always rewarded and romance is always round the corner!
Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love.
Neither a Fortress nor a Maidenhead will hold out long after they begin to parley.
Romance is a different word than sexual contact.
Every romance does not lead to sex.
If you find that the reader of popular romances – however uneducated a reader, however bad the romances – goes back to his old favourites again and again, then you have pretty good evidence that they are to him a sort of poetry.
It does no harm to the romance of the sunset to know a little bit about it.
Spiritual connection does not mean romance.
I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time – I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you.
He was the most ordinary man in all the world, and yet in her memory he’d become luminous, like the prince in a fairy tale.
Give me romance. Flash. Give me denial.
As you get older, you’re not afraid of doubt. Doubt isn’t running the show. You take out all the self-agonizing.
No solution can ever be found by running in three different directions.