A Quote by Kaley Cuoco

I like old-fashioned romance, when the two people sleep in separate beds but still hold hands all night. Their hands rest on a little table between the beds. — © Kaley Cuoco
I like old-fashioned romance, when the two people sleep in separate beds but still hold hands all night. Their hands rest on a little table between the beds.
We're introducing separate rooms with double beds in all of our planes so people can actually go with their partner and have a proper night's sleep.
We're introducing separate rooms with double beds in all of our planes so people can actually go with their partner and have a proper night's sleep...
I hold my face in my two hands. No, I am not crying. I hold my face in my two hands to keep the loneliness warm - two hands protecting, two hands nourishing, two hands preventing my soul from leaving me in anger.
I was crying for joy, my Sassenach,' he said softly. He reached out slowly and took my face between his hands. "And thanking God that I have two hands. That I have two hands to hold you with. To serve you with, to love you with. Thanking God that I am a whole man still, because of you.
I have raised beds, perennial beds, cut flower beds. I have an island on a pond that's just covered in peonies. I have an herb garden, tons of vegetables, raspberries. I have everything. I'm a green guy.
I remember when I used to sit on hospital beds and hold people s hands, people used to be shocked because they d never seen this before. To me it was quite normal.
My marriage is far from perfect. We're not hand-holdy and soft. We are snippy and bickery. We sleep in separate beds because we have no tolerance of each other's night-time idiosyncrasies.
We also sleep in separate beds. Hers is in California and mine is in Texas
People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.
Indolence is the worst enemy that the church has to encounter. Men sleep around her altar, stretching themselves on beds of ease, or sit idly with folded hands looking lazily out on fields white for the harvest, but where no sickle rings against the wheat.
Meanwhile the 3 a.m. drunks of the world would lay in their beds, trying in vain to sleep, and deserving that rest, if they could find it.
I may not have hands to hold my wife’s hands, but I don’t need hands to hold her heart. That’s what I’m gonna hold.
Men die nightly in their beds, wringing the hands of ghostly confessors ... on account of the hideousness of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed.
We sleep safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.
Some astronauts sleep in sort of beds - compartments that you can open up and crawl into and then close up, almost like a little bedroom.
My dad loves boxing, so he used to hold up his hands when we were little kids, and we would punch his hands, and he slowly got us little gloves, and little punching bags that he'd always hold for us.
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