Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life.
How she felt when he kissed her—like a tub of roses swimming in honey, cologne, nutmeg and blackberries.
—Samuel Sullivan Cox
He took her into his arms again, using all his strength to be gentle, and let his lips touch hers so lightly he could hardly feel it.
His kisses tapped into deep mines of memory, and the years that had separated us fell away as if they were nothing.
A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear; kisses are the messengers of love and tenderness.
And we were kissing like drowning people breathe—like suddenly we’d discovered something that has never been so sweet before that moment.
The kiss itself is immortal. It travels from lip to lip, century to century, from age to age. Men and women garner these kisses, offer them to others and then die in turn.
—Guy de Maupassant
I kiss her. I kiss her and kiss her. I try not to bite her lip. She tastes like vodka honey.
We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.
It was the kiss of a man who had waited years for the moment, and feared that it would never come again.
The first kiss can be as terrifying as the last.
It was a kiss to level mountains and shake stars from the sky. It was a kiss to make angels faint and demons weep…a passionate, demanding, soul-searing kiss that nearly knocked the earth off its axis.
You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.
If you kiss on the first date and it’s not right, then there will be no second date. Sometimes it’s better to hold out and not kiss for a long time. I am a strong believer in kissing being very intimate, and the minute you kiss, the floodgates open for everything else.
My first kiss. A new kind of kiss, like the new kind of music still playing, softly, in the distance—wild and arrhythmic, desperate. Passionate.
Now a soft kiss—aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.
Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.
It was the best first kiss in the history of first kisses. It was as sweet as sugar. And it was warm, as warm as pie. The whole world opened up and I fell inside. I don’t know where I was, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care because the only person who mattered was there with me.
—Sarah Addison Allen
How did it happen that their lips came together? How does it happen that birds sing, that snow melts, that the rose unfolds, that the dawn whitens behind the stark shapes of trees on the quivering summit of the hill? A kiss and all was said.
A first kiss is the demarcation line: the same information that a moment ago felt private, all of a sudden seems unfair to withhold. And with that exchange came more.
Then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before…and it was blissful oblivion, better than firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world.
—J. K. Rowling
I’m going to kiss you now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.
A kiss that is never tasted, is forever and ever wasted.
He kisses like he’s dying of thirst, and I’m water.
—Jennifer L. Armentrout
A kiss is a rosy dot over the ‘i’ of loving.
—Cyrano de Bergerac
Well, it’s either kiss me or kill me, that’s how I see it.
The kiss is neither returned nor exchanged, because it’s free.
—Charles de Leusse
The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?
—Percy Bysshe Shelley
My nose itched, and I knew I should drink wine or kiss a fool.
Kissing you is terrifying, breathing your same air makes my knees weak, when I’m around you it’s a tie between wanting to chase you down—or just kiss you until you can’t breathe.
—Rachel Van Dyken
Our only kiss was like an accident—a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
He tangles his hand in my hair, and the other cups my jaw. Although I have this all planned, his lips feel shockingly sweet, swollen and soft, and more like home every time.
A kiss on the beach when there is a full moon is the closest thing to heaven.
—H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye—that was the trouble—I wanted to kiss you good night—and there’s a lot of difference.
His mouth seizes mine. Consuming me. Devouring me. My body moves against his. Harder. Faster. Take me. Take all of me…
I prefer a kiss that is so much more than just a tongue in your mouth.
The truth is, I always want to kiss you.
I was going to kiss him, and I was going to regret it. But at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Your love is not really love until you waste it, a kiss is never a kiss until you taste it…
The lover steals a kiss. He incurs life imprisonment.
—Charles de Leusse
Kiss me out of desire, but not consolation.
It’s the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.
Kissing—and I mean like, yummy, smacking kissing – is the most delicious, most beautiful and passionate thing that two people can do, bar none. Better than sex, hands down.
Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.
And somehow, against all reason, we were kissing. I closed my eyes, and the world around me faded.
Boys always like to see girls kiss. I don’t get it; girls don’t want to see boys kiss.
Make me immortal with a kiss.
Unfortunately, I like to feel a little stubble when I kiss. Women are too soft.
One day you will kiss a man you can’t breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.
And kid, you’ve got to love yourself. You’ve got wake up at four in the morning, brew black coffee, and stare at the birds drowning in the darkness of the dawn. You’ve got to sit next to the man at the train station who’s reading your favorite book and start a conversation. You’ve got to come home after a bad day and burn your skin from a shower. Then you’ve got to wash all your sheets until they smell of lemon detergent you bought for four dollars at the local grocery store. You’ve got to stop taking everything so goddam personally. You are not the moon kissing the black sky. You’ve got to compliment someones crooked brows at an art fair and tell them that their eyes remind you of green swimming pools in mid July. You’ve got to stop letting yourself get upset about things that won’t matter in two years. Sleep in on Saturday mornings and wake yourself up early on Sunday. You’ve got to stop worrying about what you’re going to tell her when she finds out. You’ve got to stop over thinking why he stopped caring about you over six months ago. You’ve got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You’ve got to love yourself.