At last she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears, and her look unbearably naked. Such looks we have all once or twice in our lives received and shared; they are those in which worlds melt, pasts dissolve, moments when we know, in the resolution of profoundest need, that the rock of ages can never be anything else but love, here, now, in these two hands’ joining, in this blind silence in which one head comes to rest beneath the other.
John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman (via thatkindofwoman)
You’ve got an awfully kissable mouth.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, Bernice Bobs Her Hair (via thatkindofwoman)
Someone asked me what home was and all I could think of were the stars on the tip of your tongue, the flowers sprouting from your mouth, the roots entwined in the gaps between your fingers, the ocean echoing inside of your ribcage.
e.e. cummings (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)
I do not use the word home lightly. So when I sigh it into the crook of your neck, believe that your spine is a timber frame, your kiss a welcome mat, and your enveloping arms my front door.
Unknown (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)