Kiss Quotes

Of course one kiss changes things. If it's done right, a kiss changes everything.

Suddenly, it seemed there were about a million times he was supposed to have kissed her, even without the benefit of a script, even without any sort of direction.

In a corner you condense yourself and cry- in the same corner you caress and kiss. Life is this, something different each time.

Believe this," he whispered, and kissed her with the sharp, sleek kiss, the silver kiss, so swift and true, and razor sharp, and her warmth was flowing into him.

When in love or inspired,An eternal kiss from the divineAwaits us all.

And so, from the first, we separated our pleasure. She lay on the rug and I lay at right angles to her so that only our lips might meet. Kissing in this way is the strangest of distractions. The greedy body that clamors for satisfaction is forced to content itself with a single sensation and, just as the blind hear more acutely and the deaf can feel the grass grow, so the mouth becomes the focus of love and all things pass through it and are re-defined. It is a sweet and precise torture.

Have you ever heard of such a thing as a phone?" I snapped. "You could have called so we knew you weren't dead."My anger bounced off him. "I see my diabolical plan has worked," he observed."What plan?" I asked with narrow eyes."Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Tone down the outpouring affection, Remington, or I might get the wrong idea and kiss you.

Her mouth was soft and moist, and she came to me like a dachshund jumping into your lap.

I think that before and after we kissed are two different timelines.

You know what they say about mistakes though,' she said, all breathy and half-lipsy. 'It's the only way you ever learn anything.' And she leant forward and kissed him. Right there, in the middle of the bar. Right there, in the middle of his lips.

Maybe it's not the first kisses that are meant to be special. Maybe it's the last ones.

For one entire day I let his kiss burn on my cheek and into my blood and I don't push the memory away... This kiss, these words, they feel like beginning.

He tunneled his dirty hands through her hair and kissed her breathless. Her neck, her eyes, the corners of her mouth. He kissed her lips as if his life depended on it. Kissed their future into her. All they could have and all they could be.

I open my eyes. I want to know:what is in the abyss of a kiss? Are stars born in these black caves that house bated breaths and unspoken words? Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks to greet one another by ivory gates? What happens when we kiss?Where do you go?Don’t tell me. For I have lost my desire to know. Kiss me so that I forget myself. I close my eyes and fall in the abyss.

She opened her mouth to answer, but he was already kissing her. She had kissed him so many times—soft gentle kisses, hard and desperate ones, brief brushes of the lips that said good-bye, and kisses that seemed to go on for hours—and this was no different. The way the memory of someone who had once lived in a house might linger even after they were gone, like a sort of psychicimprint,herbody rememberedJace.Remembered the way he tasted, the slant of his mouth over hers, his scars under her fingers, the shape of his body under her hands.

Your kisses are like miracle fruit that sweetens my life without ruining my diet.

Absolutely. No more pretending!

I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.

You could die tomorrow, you don't think you should kiss her today?

Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known which lips were the first to move towards the other lips; but they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart.The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an angry spirit were within it, and behind it was the great swoop of the wind; it was one of those moments in which both the busy and the idle pause with a certain awe.

You will not! It's wrong.""What, kissing you, or kissing you in Pies and Stuff?

Tonight I've set my body on fireI've burned my fingers On your chest and absAnd as the flame Continued consuming me I blew my air kisses All over youUntil I've heard The explosion.

Park stood up when she got to their row, and as soon as she sat down, he took her hand and kissed it. It happened so fast, she didn't have time to die of ecstasy or embarrassment.

Such hungry desperation in a single kiss when it's enamored in love and bathed in bliss.

I want you to kiss me, Longinus. Kiss me like this night will never end. If I am going to die, then this is my last request. Will you grant it?

Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life.

A kiss? A fucking kiss got me tortured to within the last inch of sanity? Maybe you could have laid out the rules for messing around with you? You know, before I did that?" (Arik to Limos)

So, how does he kiss?"I'm blushing. I tap my fingers on my lips before I say, "He kisses like ... like it could be his job.

Their lips touched now, mouths pursed tight, their eyes open, both of them stock still. The moment held, a kind of such glorious confusion.

Ahmed turned, and leaned into him. Kissed him on the mouth again.“I’m pretty fucked up,” Eshe said.“It’s a good thing I’m perfect, then.

The kiss is neither returned nor exchanged, because it's free. (Le baiser n'est ni repris - Ni échangé, car gratuit.)

A letter to the beloved is like the ink kissing the paper. (Une lettre à l'aimée, c'est - L'encre embrassant le papier)

Stolen kisses are always sweetest.

What is life? Life is living in this moment, experiencing and experimenting but experience isn’t life. Life is reflecting and meditating but reflection isn’t life. Life is helping and guiding but philanthropy isn’t life. Life is eating and drinking but food isn’t life. Life is reading and dancing but art isn’t life. Life is kissing and pleasuring but sex isn’t life. Life is winning and losing but competition isn’t life. Life is loving and caring but love isn’t life. Life is birthing and nurturing but children aren’t life. Life is letting go and surrendering but death isn’t life. Life is all these things but all these things aren’t life. Life is always more.

I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

I wish I knew how to calibrate my kiss the way he did but passion allows us to hide more.

She gets on her tippy-toes and kisses him. Long, slow, deep. The kind of kiss where you can feel little pieces of your soul trading places as mouths open and breath mingles.

Love affords you these three things: smiles, hugs, and kisses. Joy affords you these three things: pleasure, laughter, and good memories.

He’s dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever.

Our surroundings fade and we exist in unison, two people who once shared cups of coffee, unprecedentedly ourselves in a changing world.

Kisses are like cardiograms. They reveal how serious the illness is.

and when his lips touched mine forthe very first time . . . i knew he is theone

Les, I want to kiss her so fucking bad, but I'm too scared. I'm scared if I kiss her too soon, it'll feel like every other kiss she's ever received. She'll feel nothing. I don't want her to feel nothing when I kiss her. I want her to feel everything.

Come lay thy head upon my breast And I will kiss thee into rest.

Some women blush when they are kissed some call for the police some swear some bite. But the worst are those who laugh.

And it sucks, because I want to kiss her. It's infuriating how perfect it would be to kiss her right now, perched on a cannon on a pirate ship under the stars. That sounds like something off the pages of an adventure novel. But my life isn't one of those stories. My story is a hurricane, and here with Swift is just the eye.

A kiss….….. is just a kiss….Until it’s all you reminisce.(Then the memory becomes your most treasured possession.)

Cash leaned forward against her hand and Harper met him halfway. The kiss was powerful and demanding. Harper wrapped her arms around Cash, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. The kiss was more aggressive than either of them meant it to be, and, when they pulled apart, they were both breathing fast, like they had sprinted toward each other.t“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that,” Cash said, out of breath.“Eight years,” Harper murmured. “My whole life,” Cash corrected, leaning in again.

Put your mouth on mine, Little Raven. I’m ready for a taste of lemon cake,” he said in a deep and tumbling voice.“Maybe I’m not so sweet,” I whispered, wetting my lower lip with a sweep of my tongue.Logan’s eyes followed every movement, and he licked his lips in response. “I want your mouth… on my mouth. Do it, or else I’ll have to find something else to kiss.

I’ve been kissed by men who did a very good job. But they don’t give kissing their whole attention. They can’t. No matter how hard they try parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus—or their chances of making the gal—or their own techniques in kissing—or maybe worry about jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Mike doesn’t have technique . . . but when Mike kisses you he isn’t doing anything else. You’re his whole universe . . . and the moment is eternal because he doesn’t have any plans and isn’t going anywhere. Just kissing you.

His kisses tapped into deep mines of memory, and the years that had separated us fell away as if they were nothing.

The fantasized kiss was stolen time from the dreams…

I kissed him softly and left my lips pressed to his for a few beats of my heart.

It's me I'm losing control of. Hundreds of sketches, and still can't get enough of your face." He traces the dimple in my chin with his thumb. "Your neck." His palm moves along my throat. "Your..." both hands find my waist and drag me off the table so we're standing toe tote. "I'm not wasting another second drawing you," he whispers against my lips, "when I can touch you instead." He presses his mouth to mine.A spark, hot and electric, jumps between us. Shock and sensation shimmer through me, aglow with his heat ad flavor. Six year of secret desire. Six years of denying that he's the orbit of my world.To think, he's been running from me, too.

In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.

slow down, oh sweet tearsflowing nectar...down my lashes' tipssomedaysomeone will kiss you away,even before you can reach my lips.

At this moment, all I'm thinking about is what I'd give up for the chance to kiss her or to run my fingers through her dark hair.

I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems.How can it be my faultwhen the words to describe you have not yet been created?When the alphabet lacks the very letters?How can it be my fault when your loveliness only growsby the time I reach for pen and paper?Tell me how I am at faultwhen I am only a beginner in poemsand you are exquisite poetry?To write you in words is to put a veil upon you.Why must I writewhen I can kiss you instead?

If we’re going to kiss, it has to be book-worthy.

I'm silenced by his right hand cupping my chin and ear, his left hand flattening against my ribs as he gently pushes me back against the wall. I can feel the brick pressing into my naked upper back, cold and rough. His kiss is slow, tender...firm. His lips are warm, tongue smooth and flat, filling my mouth...I can't even feel my own tongue...taking my breath away with his.