Dan Fogelberg Quotes

To Grace, these were the things that mattered: my hands on her cheeks, my lips on her mouth. The fleeting touches that meant I loved her.

Tell me, was I the sort of person who took your elbow when cars passed on the street, touched your cheek while you talked, combed your wet hair, stopped by the side of the road in the country to point out certain constellations, standing behind you so that you had the advantage of leaning and looking up?

You were made to be kissed, often and well.

Embraces are comminglings from the head even to the feet, And not a pompous high priest entering by a secret place.

what a luxury it was for people to hold their loved ones whenever they wanted

I had to touch you with my hands, I had to taste you with my tongue; one can't love and do nothing.

Intimacy can be about holding someone's hand. It could be about stroking their hair.

I want to be kissed by the people I love.

Gestures, in love, are incomparably more attractive, effective and valuable than words.

The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes - or just by staring into space.

I am a hug-and-kiss person.

An astonishing number of kisses are flying about! I see a whole crowd of them. Ha! Ha! I have just caught three - They are delicious... I kiss you millions of times.

I felt it very moving to feel his touch, and to remember that hands can also show love.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer to him until my lips touched his.

A kiss is a lovely trick to stop speech.

I grabbed her ankle and kissed it, and when I looked up I saw her chin and her eyelashes as she threw back her head and laughed.

I needed to see you. And touch you. And just... know

And then they kiss. Slowly, gently. Because with the right person, sometimes kissing feels like healing.

We hold hands as we walk through town. If anybody notices, nobody cares. I know we all like to think of the heart as the center of the body but at this moment, every conscious part of me is in the hand that he holds. It is through that hand, that feeling, that I experience everything else.

I love kissing. If I could kiss all day, I would. I can’t stop thinking about kissing. I like kissing more than sex because there’s no end to it. You can kiss forever. You can kiss yourself into oblivion. You can kiss all over the body. You can kiss yourself to sleep. And when you wake up, you can’t stop thinking about kissing. Dammit, I can’t get anything done because I’m so busy thinking about kissing. Kissing is madness! But it’s absolute paradise, if you can find a good kisser.

Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.

Embraces do not matter; they merely indicate the will to love and may as well be followed by defeat as victory. But disregard means that now there needs to be no straining of the eyes, no stretching forth of the hands, no pressing of the lips, because theirs is such a union that they are no longer aware of the division of their flesh.

I talk to you as I talk to my own soul," he said, turning me to face him. He reached up and cupped my cheek, fingers light on my temple. "And Sassenach," he whispered, "Your face is my heart.

Holding someone's hand was always my idea of joy.

He gave her a quick, casual kiss on the cheek first. Then came the hug, and it was the hug that always made Laurel’s heart mush. Serious grip, cheek to the hair, eyes closed, just a little sway. Del’s hugs mattered, she thought, and made him impossible to resist.