A gentleman holds my hand.
A man pulls my hair.
A soulmate will do both.

The heart is stubborn. It holds onto love despite what sense and emotion tells it. And it is often, in the battle of those three, the most brilliant of all.

I'm done. I don't need anything more out of life. I have you, and that's enough.

I hate society’s notion that there is something wrong with sex. Something wrong with a woman who loves sex.

There is nothing like young love. It comes at a time before the heart knows to protect itself, when everything important is raw and exposed—the perfect environment for a soul-sucking, heart-crushing burst.

The true measure of a man is how he treats you when others are not looking.