First Slow Dance Quotes & Sayings

It's never the wedding dresses, you know. We keep those, too, but only because they're so blooming expensive. No. I've seen enough old ladies' closets to know what we really hold on to. Not the till-death-do-us-part dresses. It's those first lovely dresses: the slow dance dresses, the good-night-kiss dresses. It's those first pangs we hold on to. — Alexis M. Smith

First slow dance, you get out there and ask her. Promise?"
Max knocked back his shot. "Fine, I can probably manage that."
I chugged my water as another good song came on. So I grabbed his hand. "Don't be self-conscious. I'm going to teach you some move. Nothing fancy."
He watched me for a few seconds than shook his head. "My pelvis only moves that way under one circumstance. This isn't it. — Ann Aguirre

Let's take it slow because some of the good things in life are worthy of reverence and appreciation. Let's take it slow because what we have is like a cross-country ride, where all the breathtaking scenes must be breathed in and stared at with wonder. Let's take it slow because getting to know you is like a trip to a museum where things, both wonderful and gruesome, are waiting to be discovered. Let's take it slow because some things are best done at a leisurely pace - the slow dance, the first kiss, making love. — Nessie Q.

When I dance with him, one of my great loves, he is absolutely human, and when he turns to dip me or I step on his foot because we are both leading, I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer. The slow dance of what's to come and the slow dance of insomnia pouring across the floor like bath water. — Matthew Dickman

Do people in the twenty-first century still dance?"
My heart beat thundered in my ears, far louder than the slow music. "Um," I said, barely able to swallow, my throat had gone so dry. "Sometimes."
"How about now?" he asked.
And then his strong arms were encircling my waist, his breath soft against my cheek as he gently whispered my name: "Susannah. Susannah ... — Meg Cabot

It's the color scheme of that first afternoon - that white panorama full of potential, that threshold white - that Marina understands as whomise. And that's what she's trying to recreate now, a year and a bit later, with a series of expensive light bulbs. 'White light,' the packaging promised. She fits them one by one throughout the house, and unbeknown to her, choreographs the slow dance of light-over-puddle in the passageway. — Laia Jufresa

You're a dumb shit. There's a million first girls for a million different first things.
There's the first girl you slow-dance with, and the first girl you go to bed with. There's the first girl to give you a kiss, and then the first one you take home to mama." His amber eyes lit up with humor.
"There's the first girl you fight with and the first girl you fight for. There's also the first girl you have to let go of. There's the first girl you love, obviously, and the first girl to break your heart.
There's always a first girl, Rowdy, but there is also the girl that is going to come after her until you get to the last girl.
The last girl is the one that really matters. — Jay Crownover

Can I have this dance?"
He held out his arms expectantly, waiting as she grappled with her feelings. She gazed up into his eyes. One heartbeat later she slipped into his arms and he pulled her close. Her palm against his was heady, sending all sorts of tingles coursing up and down her arm. His other hand, on the small of her back, kept her close. They were awkward at first, but kept at it. He hummed as they moved around in a circle, her skirt swishing against her legs and sometimes tangling between his. A slow burn started on her neck. When they finished he let her go and took a small step back.
"Charlie, I..."
"Stop talking, Nell."
His eyes closed and his lips covered hers. The kiss was gentle as he pulled her tighter against him, driving all thought from her mind. His hands moved down and bracketed her waist and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. — Caroline Fyffe

As she reached the stairs, she made a quick detour and stepped outside.
A crescent moon hung in the midnight blue sky along with trillions of twinkling stars. Out here there were no streetlights to wash out the view. She loved being able to see the stars.
Tonight, the mountains were etched deep purple against the night sky. The white snowcapped tips gleamed silver. Nearer, silhouetted pine trees swayed in the breeze as if in a slow dance.
"You are such a romantic," Trask had once told her. "Are you sure you want to open a bar? You should be writing poetry."
She'd laughed. "How do you know I don't? — B. J. Daniels

With my ninth mind I resurrect my first
and dance slow to the music of my soul made new. — Aberjhani