A Quote by Charles Lamb

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.
Lips move; lips touch; lips signal. Lips are on the outside for show, and on the most secret inside of your mouth. Lips frame words that lie. Lips frame a hole that wants to be filled.
The young May moon is beaming, love. The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love. How sweet to rove, Through Morna's grove, When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
You asked me once if I would still love you when your lips were puckered with age and your eyes were faded. I can assure you that I will still love you when I have only the strength (and the scant teeth) left to gum those puckered lips. I shall love you when your bones are sharp enough to pierce my fragile flesh. I shall love you when the light in my own eyes fades for good and yours is the last sweet face I see. Because I am and ever shall be.
My dream girl... well, I love eyes. And lips. She has to have nice lips!
I used to hate that my lips are gigantic, and now I have huge red clown lips, and I love it.
Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes.
You're sweet. I'm going to make sure you kiss me good with those big lips. I'm gonna make you my girlfriend.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
Why will we struggle to attain, and strive, When all we gain is but an empty dream?-- Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem To end it all and let who will survive; To find at last all beauty is but dust; That love and sorrow are the very same; That joy is only suffering's sweeter name; And sense is but the synonym of lust. Far better, yea, to me it seems to die; To set glad lips against the lips of Death-- The only thing God gives that comforteth, The only thing we do not find a lie.
Gotta get a tight grip, don't slip, loose lips, sank ships, it's a trip, I love the way she licks her lips.
How sweet the words of Truth, breathed from the lips of Love.
I have something I need to tell you," he says. I run my fingers along the tendons in his hands and look back at him. "I might be in love with you." He smiles a little. "I'm waiting until I'm sure to tell you, though." "That's sensible of you," I say, smiling too. "We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something." I feel his laughter against my side, his nose sliding along my jaw, his lips pressing my ear. "Maybe I'm already sure," he says, "and I just don't want to frighten you." I laugh a little. "Then you should know better." "Fine," he says. "Then I love you.
what red lips you have," he said in her ear. Did she dare say it? "All the better to kiss you with, my dear," she replied. And then their lips met.
I am sure I would love to do it now, but back then, I was, like, 11 and it was 'ugh.' There's nothing sexual or sexy when you're that age. So I was kissing Brad Pitt. So what? He had chapped lips. He was lovely and kind and sweet to me, but it was just yuk.
So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: thy love ne'er alter, till they sweet life end
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