Romance Quote by Veronica Rossi — Inspiring Words on Life, Love & Wisdom

“It's time, Perry". He let her go. She took a step back, taking in his face one last time. His green eyes. The bend in his nose and the scars on his cheek. All the tiny inperfections that made him beautiful. Without a word, she turned and made her way downhill.”

“Without thinking, he reached for her hand. Tucked it against her chest, feeling that was where it should be. Perry's heart slammed against his ribs. She had to feel it.”

“She did it, though she hated opera. She hated everything about it. The overblown sense of drama. The violence and lewdness. No one had ever died of heartbreak in Reverie. Betrayal never led to murder. Those things didn’t happen anymore. They had the Realms now. They could experience anything without taking risks. Now, life was Better than Real.”

“She’d fallen into a deep silence once, when the sun appeared, and it was then he’d wondered most what she was thinking.”

“Fall off your own roof.”

“In the afternoon, they stopped to eat on a rocky outcrop. Perry brushed a kiss on her cheek while she was chewing, and she learned that it was the loveliest thing to be kissed for no reason, even while chewing food. It brightened the woods, and the never sky, and everything.”

“Love is when you’d rather see someone one last time and die, than never see their face again.”

“The cottage in the woods may be our house, but there's no place in the world like home. And Evelina is mine.”

“Existence, after losing her, would be hell”

“In the past year I’ve learned that love can make you do crazy, silly, stupid, ridiculous things. And the fact that one person can make you feel this way and do those things is amazing to me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“His world closes in. The sky is endless no longer but pieced into squares of brick and bright cloths hanging down to dry. Underfoot, no longer stone but rubble, earth, the peelings and rotted scraps of the inedible. He smells the smoke of cooking fires, he hears men arguing and babies screaming like seagulls, he sees young women looking shyly down from high windows, exchanging glances. Now, he is no longer the watcher. Watched. Shouts echo in the dark between twisted walls and back alleys. A twisted smile in a doorway. A stranger’s voice. A stranger’s language.”