There are kisses that leave traces on the lips like sunshine between ice.

Written kisses don’t reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.

It’s tough to stay married. My wife kisses the dog on the lips, yet she won’t drink from my glass.

I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there’s a lot of difference.

You don’t gotta kiss a, but you gotta be consistent.

Look at the sun sinkin’ like a ship. Ain’t that just like my heart, babe. When you kissed my lips?

Lovers would find it as hard to count the kisses exchanged in an hour as to count the flowers in a meadow in May.

Ah, in those earliest days of love how naturally the kisses spring into life!

Why do you sell your wine, merchant?
What can they give you in exchange for your wine? Money? … And what can money give you? Power? … Aren’t you the owner of the world when you are holding a drink? Is anyone richer than you, who have gold in your cup, Rubies, Pearls, Dreams, and Love? Don’t you feel the blood burning in your veins when the cup kisses your lips.