Sticky Love Quotes & Sayings

Young women looking after a children's summer camp, the ice-cream vendor's horn (his cart is a gondola on wheels, pushed by two handles), the displays of fruit, red melons with black pips, translucent, sticky grapes
all are props for the person who can no longer be alone. [1] But the cicadas' tender and bitter chirping, the perfume of water and stars one meets on September nights, the scented paths among the lentisks and the rosebushes, all these are signs of love for the person forced to be alone. [2]
[1] That is to say, everybody.
[2] That is to say, everybody. — Albert Camus

What's that sticky stuff called?
Basta: Duct tape.
Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape. — Cornelia Funke

One Dad I know uses what I call Post-It Note therapy on his children. He leaves sticky Post-It Notes everywhere ... in their lunch box, inside their shoes, on top of their sandwich before he wraps it up. He once went into his daughter's room, looking for his hammer, and on the back of her bedroom door were every Post-It Note he'd ever given her - over 250 in all with simple messages like 'Great job' ... 'I love you' ... or 'You're special to me.' Do you think that girl knew, without a doubt, that her Dad valued her and loved her? — Jack Canfield

It feels like a game, this work I do. It is totally heartfelt, and I love the sticky terrain, the straight-up cartoons, how the irrepressible and icky rise to the surface. But I am not just trying to call forth bugaboos and demons for the sake of it, for fun. — Kara Walker

Still i knew because of my own feelings there was something wrong with me and i knew it wasnt only me. I knew it was everybody. It was like a bacteria or a cancer or a trance. It wasnt on the skin, it was in the soul. It showed itself in lonliness, lust, anger , jealousy and depression. It had people screwed up bad everywhere you went- at the store, at home, at church, it was ugly and deep. Lots of singers on the radio were singing about it and cops had jobs because of it. It was as if we were broken I thought, as if we were never supposed to feel these sticky emotions. It was as if we were cracked, coudlnt love right, couldnt feel good things for a long before screwing it all up.
I am talking about the broken quality of life. — Donald Miller

Come make me sticky.
Dimitri to Honor — Nalini Singh

There is little opiate delusion in Jesus's grim warning to his comrades that if they were true to his Gospel of love and justice, they would meet the same sticky end as him. The measure of your love in his view is whether they kill you or not. — Terry Eagleton

Sometimes love is nothing more than a sticky web; illusions spun from clever minds and bitter hearts. — Nicole Lyons

Brains love poetry. It's sticky stuff. — Rainbow Rowell

Judge was in love. Michaels smelled so good; he inhaled his arousal, breathed in the intoxicating smell of his desire. His thick cock was right there next to his cheek, evidence of his longing leaving a sticky trail in his beard. Judge breathed on him for a while, let him know he was there; let him know pleasure was knocking at his door. He gave Michaels just the tip of his tongue first. Then a little more. Dragged the flat of his tongue along the thick veins in his shaft. "Come — A.E. Via

Love and happiness remind me of sticky peanut butter. When you spread them around, you can't help but end up getting some on yourself! — Marsha Jordan

The dreamy days and sticky nights of summer were already calling, as if anything could happen. — C.J. Carlyon

Embracing your new kind of normal is the most empowering choice you will ever make. It transcends common sense. It is resistant to old patterns. It is sticky, uncomfortable, agitating, and difficult. But it is liberating and life giving and spirit enriching. It changes your life and the lives of everyone who joins you on your journey. And then, quite unexpectedly, you realize you are splashing hope into the lives of others because you have an intimate love relationship with the Source of hope. — Carol Kent

My love is sticky, like glue. I'd kill a horse just to give you some. — Dark Jar Tin Zoo

I will raise you like my own," I promised the tiny basil pot that day. "I will give you sunlight, I will give you water, I will give you love."
"I will eat your limbs," my girlfriend helpfully added rubbing her belly and licking her lips like a grizzly bear gazing up at a sticky beehive in a tall pine tree. — Neil Pasricha

P.S.2. I have put in a new pen. And I love you because you aren't pompous like Dr. Carter ... and I love you because you haven't got sticky-out ears like Johnny. And ... the very best reason of all ... I love you for just being Gilbert! — L.M. Montgomery

I don't know when the boys
began to walk away with parts of myself
in their sticky hands; when loving
became a process of subtraction. Or why,
having given up what seems so much,
I'm willing to lose even more - erasing
all this body's known, relearning it with you. — Melissa Stein

The projector's beam lay warm on Walt's neck, and he knew they'd all been plucked from danger and love, from another time, another place, and set back into this dark, sticky-floored theater, in the heart of nothing much that mattered. — Alan Heathcock

Grace isn't something we deserve, Gabriel," Julia said softly. "It comes from love. And God wraps the world in second chances and sticky little leaves and mercy, even though some people don't want them. — Sylvain Reynard

At that moment there was total clarity.Life was neither love nor duty.Life was not friendship or loneliness,pleasure or pain.Life was red,liquid and sticky,and it leaked through Snape's fingers as he struggled to stem the exodus of life from his body. — Rannaro

You have broken my heart
I am a little kid,
I cannot stop crying
I hit my feet to the ground and my hands to my head
Like a fly
I cannot get up from the sticky ground
I cannot talk about you
Because it hurts
I feel the pain inside my bones
I cannot forget you
The reality has become dream and dream has become nightmare
These are my tears
They are not my sweats
I have not pissed on myself
Every drop carries pain and regret
They are all because of you,
You broke my virgin heart and poor soul,
I thought we belonged with each other
We shared dreams and wishes
We shared love and devotion
I did not know they were all lies,
If I knew you were leaving me one day, I would have loved you more than I did
Maybe it would have changed your mind
Because I still love you — M.F. Moonzajer

In those sticky summer nights in South London our windows stay open and our tiny apartment becomes our secret garden. The magic of the secret garden is that it exists in our imagination. There are no limits, no borderlines. The secret garden leads to the marigolds of Mogadishu and the magnolias of Kingston and when the heat turns us sticky and sweet and unwilling to be claimed by defeat we own the night. We own our bodies. We own our lives. — Diriye Osman

I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,
Like midsummer moths, and honied words like bees, Gilded and sticky, with a little sting. — Elinor Wylie

Our love isn't the sick and sticky splendor of teenage ardor, I've realized. It's sharp, slicing - a knife to the heart, followed by the quick stitching of its two halves back together again. — Logan Keys

If we were walking here together, I'd point out the carnivorous plants that grow on this spot: sundews with sticky red leaves, eating insects to sustain them because the soil is so poor. If you were with me, I'd take you to the Doubler Stones, where thousands of years ago, Neolithic peoples carved channels in the rock to drain away the blood from their sacrifices. I would show you where the plover nests, and the green hairstreak butterfly lays its eggs. I love this place. I love this land. It's part of me, it's part of who I am. But it's no place for you: a seven-year-old girl in a princess costume. — Sanjida Kay

I was a reader before I was a writer, and when I started putting together my first collection of short stories, Fairytales For Lost Children, I drew on my rich history as a reader to try and create my voice. I wanted this voice to reflect my Somali background, my Kenyan upbringing and my London home. This voice would be a mashup of all the elements that formed my youth; the sticky-sweet Jamaican patois, the Kenyan street slang, my Somali and Italian linguistic tics, my love of jazz poetics and nineties hip-hop slanguistics. This language would form the bed on which my narratives of love, loss, identity and hope would rest. — Diriye Osman

His heart slammed against his ribs, and joy flooded him, followed almost instantly by distress. Even from fifteen yards away he could see that she wore no makeup, and lines of fatigue were etched on her face. Her hair was restrained with a clip at the nape of her neck, and for the first time since he'd known her, she looked almost plain. Where was the Daisy who loved to primp and fuzz with her perfumes and powder? The Daisy who took such joy in dabbing herself with apricot scented lotion and raspberry red lipstick? Where was the daisy who used up all the hot water taking her showers and left a sticky film of hair spray on the bathroom door? Dry mouthed, he drank in the sight of her, and something broke apart inside him. This was Daisy as he'd made her. This was Daisy with her love light extinguished. — Susan Elizabeth Phillips

He gasped. "Jesus, Jessie, aren't you listening to me? I love you more than roaches love sticky buns. — Catherine Bybee

Love is not first a feeling. Though the feelings come later and grow thick in the basic loam of love, they don't constitute the sum and substance of love. Love is doing whatever good God says you must do for another, to please God, whether (at first) it pleases you or not. You must do so because He says so; and you don't wait until you feel like doing so. Love begins with obedience toward God in which one gives to another whatever the other needs. Love is not a gooey, sticky sentimental thing; it is hard to love. Often it hurts to love. Love meant going to the cross through the garden of Gethsemane. Christ did not feel like dying for your sins, Christian, but He did so nonetheless. The Scriptures teach that he endured the cross while focusing on the subsequent joy that it would bring. — Jay E. Adams

Fear is the most powerful adhesive we have. Fear unites, because if two people are afraid, then even as the authentic ties that may have once bound them disappear, the fear ties are as sticky as a spider's web. — Ramani Durvasula

you're the fly on the wall hearing all, seeing all

ears of a wall hearing all the secrets

perhaps you're the vines creeping over

the old abandoned mansion walls

dusty, soulless and dead

bringing a certain curious life to rubble

and I think you're the jewel-eyed gecko

sneaking around the warm summer walls

between jasmine and olive branches

sticky pad toes, clinging to the walls

peeking in at lonely summer spicy love-making

through silk curtains from the bright orient

breathing in incense and tasting decadence

climbing the sharply barbed walls

the smooth cemented white-washed walls

because walls breathe too — Moonshine Noire

I have a longing for life, and I go on living in spite of logic. Though I may not believe in the order of the universe, yet I love the sticky little leaves in spring. I love the blue sky. I love some people, whom one loves you know sometimes without knowing why. I love some great deeds done by men, though I've long ceased perhaps to have faith in them. Yet from habit one's heart prizes them. — Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Get your sticky fingers away from my cookies," Ben ordered, without turning his head, to see Jaxton trying to steal one from the cooking tray.
"You weren't saying that last night," Jaxton retaliated, coming up to Ben's side, to give him a nudge. They were both smiling, while looking down at the counter, where Ben was making his delicious rosemary cookies. "In fact, I seem to remember you grabbing my sticky fingers and putting them in your mouth," he teased, speaking quietly, so that Lyon wouldn't hear them at the other side of the room.
Ben turned to Jaxton and abandoned his baking, to catch his face in flour covered hands and plant a deep kiss on his lips.
Jaxton opened his mouth, in acceptance of his kiss.

~ From the Heart — Elaine White

A world where no child need cry because you didn't buy him that ring pop at checkout, even though you know that he'll never finish it and it will just end up a sticky mass of carpet lint and hair somewhere under the seat of the car. A world where no child need cry for want of shelter or love. A world where that child will finally just shut his cake hole. — Benjamin Wallace