Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Dear. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Dear Quotes And Sayings by 90 Authors including Toba Beta,Lori Jenessa Nelson,Stephen King,Friedrich Nietzsche,Samih Al-Qasim for you to enjoy and share.
I don't understand you, darling!
That's what I'm talking about, dear!
you are the only man, who never hurt me, but broke my heart.
I love you so much, dear.
I fear you close by; I love you far away.
Don't you feel that our brief hurried letters
lack feeling and spirit,
contain no whispers or dreams of love ,
that our responses are slow and burdened . . .
Sir, more than kisses,
letters mingle souls;
For, thus friends absent speak.
Delicate petals Flow open to receive me Sweetest kiss of all Holy
said slowly, "May I ask you a question, dear?
time is dear and the
Dearest one, do you remember When we last did meet?
It is well enough, when one is talking to a friend, to lodge in an odd word by way of counsel now and then; but there is something mighty irksome in its staring upon one in a letter, where one ought to see only kind words and friendly remembrances.
Ah, Beloved. Of all the things I must bid farewell to, you are the most difficult to lose. Forgive me that I have avoided you. Better, perhaps, that we make a space between us and become accustomed to it before fate forces that upon us.
Can my words distill for you a little sweetness, tender and caressing?
Please is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes.
How vain it seems to write, when one knows how to feel
how much more near and dear to sit beside you, talk with you, hear the tones of your voice ... Give me strength, Susie, write me of hope and love, and of hearts that endure ...
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you'd read this letter with your lips.
Beloved, all that is harsh and difficult I want for myself, and all that is gentle and sweet for thee.
My dearest Mina, Oceans of love and millions of kisses,
Letters are above all useful as a means of expressing the ideal self; and no other method of communication is quite so good for this purpose. In letters we can reform without practice, beg without humiliation, snip and shape embarrassing experiences to the measure of our own desires ...
Have you ever gotten breathless before from a beautiful face,
for i see you there,
My dear Madame, I just noticed that I forgot my cane at your house yesterday; please be good enough to give it to the bearer of this letter. P.S. Kindly pardon me for disturbing you; I just found my cane.
You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.
This letter has gotten foolish, and I think you know how I detest looking like a fool. But still I do. For you.
One of the sweetest things in life: a letter from a friend.
To be so near you without touching you is agony. Your blindness to my feelings is a daily torment, and I feel driven to the edge of madness by my love for you.
These tears I'm wailing, I spill not without reason. Remove them, my dearest love. Take me to the place I've been dreaming of, where the grotesquely lonely meet the grotesquely lonely and they whisper, just very softly, Please be mine, Dearest Love.
Don't feel afraid to face me.
Dearer to me than the evening star A Packard car A Hershey bar Or a bride in her rich adorning Dearer than any of these by far Is to lie in bed in the morning
Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently
we have had our difficulties and there are many things
I want to ask you.
Mr. Laurence. I have got a letter for the lady.
Oh. Dear. Baby. Jesus.
Be aware of me always, adore me, make every act an offering to me, and you shall come to me; this I promise; for you are dear to me.
O dearer far than light and life are dear.
Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.
Dear to girls' hearts is their own beauty.
Your letter filled the hole in my day like a key.
Nd I shall think her very mean indeed if she does not give me some of her gloves, for she has many of them, I've seen them myself ... and as you can see, I took the hint ... but not much love went into THAT package did it, my dear?
I'm as tight as a girdle. How do I accept love?
Dear Potato Face,
Just say 'thank you,' then shut up.
For the deepest love I have ever known
Through the pain my soul's enriched and I have grown
Love letters lack taste. No restraint: falling off cliffs, going up in flames.
Scream for me, my flower.
A letter, timely writ, is a rivet to the chain of affection;
And a letter, untimely delayed, is as rust to the solder.
Dear Habicht, / Such a solemn air of silence has descended between us that I almost feel as if I am committing a sacrilege when I break it now with some inconsequential babble ... / What are you up to, you frozen whale, you smoked, dried, canned piece of soul ... ?
Dear child, I only did to you
what the sparrow
did to you; I am old when it is
fashionable to be young; I cry when it is
fashionable to laugh.
I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.
Dear Valentine, I have thought of you often. Not all the time, but often.
Adieu, dear heart, nothing but death can make me cease to love you.
My dear hands. Farewell, my poor hands.
Dear to us are those who love us ... but dearer are those who reject us as unworthy, for they add another life; they build a heaven before us whereof we had not dreamed, and thereby supply to us new powers out of the recesses of the spirit, and urge us to new and unattempted performances.
DEAR BABY, Isn't it good to know winter is coming -
I write you a letter that begins
With I love you and ends with I love you and
Somewhere in the middle is one goodbye for
Oh, lady be good To me.
Lastly, say to me, if you can, with feelings as tender as mine for you: my dear Beelzebub, I adore you...
You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,You are soft as the nesting dove.Come to my heart and bring it restAs the bird flies home to its welcome nest.
Fairest and dearest, your wrath and anger are more heavy than I can bear; but learn that I cannot tell what you wish me to say without sinning against my honour too grievously.
Have you not love enough to bear with me, when that rash humor which my mother gave me makes me forgetful.
Do you feel in this letter my love for you today - It is as warm as a bird's nest.
The letters don't get their true delight, when done in haste & discomfort, nor merely done with diligence & pain, but first when they are created with love and passion.
Dearest I cannot loiter here
in lather like a polar bear.
I have owed you this letter for a very long time-but my fingers have avoided the pencil as though it were an old and poisoned tool.
But what can you say in a letter?
Dear 338171 (May I call you 338?)
Dear Leonard. To look life in the face. Always to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it. To love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard. Always the years between us. Always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.
You, who reach out to me...
You move me, like no other...
I smile, not because I write...
But because you recognize my unorthodox methods and still wish to embrace me, not only on my good days but on my worst.
((Hugs)) dear reader...dearest new friends!
So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return.
Give me a moment, because I like to cry for joy. It's so delicious, John dear, to cry for joy.
You are my true and honourable wife;
As dear to me as the ruddy drops
That visit my sad heart.
Affection, homage, devotion, does not easily express itself. Its voice is low. It is modest and retiring, it lies in ambush, waits and waits. Sometimes a life glides away, and finds it still ripening in the shade0
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once ...
Your lips, beloved, are like a honeycomb: honey and milk are under the tongue. And the smell of your clothes is like the smell of my home.
I have made this letter longer than usual, only because I have not had the time to make it shorter.
I have learnt to love you late, Beauty at once so ancient and so new!
Dear Jesus, do something.
Dear Madame Morgenstern,
As absurd as it sounds, I've been thinking of you since we parted. I want to take you into my arms, tell you a million things, ask you a million questions. I want to touch your throat and unbutton the pearl button at your neck
A profusion of fancies and quotations is out of place in a love-letter. True feeling is always direct, and never deviates into by-ways to cull flowers of rhetoric.
You must know, dear Constantinus, that I love you as much as always, and that I prefer the pleasure of living in your company above all pleasures of other company and friendship.
To sorrow I bade good morrow, And thought to leave her far away behind; But cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly; She is so constant to me, and so kind.
I would deceive her, And so leave her, But ah! she is so constant and so kind
Dear Abby has had her day, now it's my turn!
Daisy, love," he whispered, "You're so soft ... so dainty ... where shall I touch you? Here? Or here ... "
"There," she sobbed, as his fingers slid to just the right spot. "Yes ... oh, there ...
Friendship, a dear balm...
A smile among dark frowns: a beloved light: A solitude, a refuge, a delight.
I told her you were lovely, but the truth is, you're more than lovely,
But when I want to draw close to someone, and fully commit myself, then my misery is assured. Then I am nothing, and what can I do with nothingness? I must admit that your letter this morning (by the afternoon it had changed) arrived at just the right moment; I was in need of those very words.
I need you more and more, and the great world grows wider, and dear ones fewer and fewer, every day that you stay away
After all my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished;
Need we say it was not love, just because it perished?
I am sentimental,' she said. 'I could dissect a koala but not its baby. I like the words damozel, eglantine, elegant. I love when you kiss my elongated white hand.
Dear Valentine,' said the young man, 'you are too far above my love for me to dare speak of it to you, yet every time that I see you I need to tell you that I adore you, so that the echo of my own words will gently caress my heart when I am no longer with you.
There is something very sensual about a letter. The physical contact of pen to paper, the time set aside to focus thoughts, the folding of the paper into the envelope, licking it closed, addressing it, a chosen stamp, and then the release of the letter to the mailbox - are all acts of tenderness.
Nothing is so dear as what you're about to leave.
I love you as one should, to excess. With folly, delight and despair.
For a lack of attention a thousand forms of loveliness elude us everyday
I've met nearly every woman in this room, and I can't think of one who would make a better friend. I'd be glad to have you stay."
My relief was inexpressible.
"Do you think," Maxon asked, "That I could still call you 'my dear'?"
"Not a chance." I whispered.
My dear Isa, I now sit down on my botom to answer all your kind and beloved letters which you was so good as to write to me.
If your letters are as long as the bible, they will appear short to me. Only let them be brim full of affection.
A Dear John haiku:
This isn't working.
I hope we can still be friends.
Please don't kill my cat.
If you live," I whispered, "I'll let you call me your dear. I won't complain, I promise.
I may be kindly, I am ordinarily gentle, but in my line of business I am obliged to will terribly what I will at all.
Poetry! Indeed, verses are the only thing that your letter lacks, Makar Alexievitch. And what tender feelings I can read in it - what roseate-coloured fancies! To the curtain, however, I had never given a thought. The fact is that when I moved the flower-pots, it LOOPED ITSELF up. There now!
I don't have time to write you a short letter, so I'm writing you a long one instead.
Damn it, kiss me, Luce.
Farewell, hello, farewell, hello.