Romance is thinking about your significant other, when you are supposed to be thinking about something else.
American culture is torn between our long romance with violence and our terror of the devastation wrought by war and crime and environmental havoc.
Life is a romantic business. It is painting a picture, not doing a sumbut you have to make the romance, and it will come to the question how much fire you have in your belly.
Romances I never read like those I have seen.
His honest, patronizing pride in the good-will and respect of everybody about him was a safeguard even against foolish romance, still more against a lower kind of folly.
No age seemed the age of romance to itself.
I don't have this fantasy about marriage anymore.
Everyone says it takes hard work. Well, it kind of does - and I'm much more pragmatic about romance than I used to be.
Too many women throw themselves into romance because they're afraid of being single, then start making compromises and losing their identity. I won't do that.
I stayed in submission to my husband, and he allowed me to do anything I wanted to. I felt like I was lucky to have that kind of romance.
The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule.
Romanticism is not just a mode; it literally eats into every life. Women will never get rid of just waiting for the right man.
When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.
We're smitten with technology. And we're afraid, like young lovers, that too much talking might spoil the romance. But it's time to talk.
Wave after wave of love flooded the stage and washed over me, the beginning of the one great durable romance of my life.
Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.
Experts on romance say for a happy marriage there has to be more than a passionate love. For a lasting union, they insist, there must be a genuine liking for each other. Which, in my book, is a good definition for friendship.
How can the moribund old man reason back to himself the romance, the mystery, the imminence of great things with which our old earth tingled for him in the days when he was young and well?
He would have liked his own funeral if he could have seen it.
It was small and quiet, and really not at all pompous, as Michael had feared it might be. 'The dead,' he had said once, 'need nothing from the living, and the living can give nothing to the dead.' At 22, it had sounded precocious; at 34, it sounded mature, and this pleased Michael very much. Essentially a romantic, he had put away the trappings of romance, although he had loved them deeply and never known.