Perfect Man Quotes

“I'm not looking for the perfect man. I'm looking for the man whose imperfections I can put up with.”
― Devon Ashley

“A perfect man would never act from a sense of duty; he’d always want the right thing more than the wrong one. Duty is only a substitute for love (of God and of other people) like a crutch which is a substitute for a leg. Most of us need the crutch at times; but of course it is idiotic to use the crutch when our own legs (our own loves, tastes, habits etc.) can do the journey on their own.”
― C. S. Lewis, Letters of C. S. Lewis

“I focused on him. Everything still seemed blurry, but he was close enough that I could see him. He was completely soaked. His jeans, shoes, jacket, and shirt. He was just as wet as I was. His normally messy blond hair was darker and flat to his head from the weight of the water.
Dark shadows haunted his eyes and his lips were pale from the cold.
"You jumped in after me," I whispered.
"I'd jump into the pits of hell for you, Rim.”
― Cambria Hebert, #Hater

“I landed on my side, my hip taking the brunt of the fall. It burned and stung from the hit, but I ignored it and struggled to sit up quickly. There really was no point in hurrying so no one would see.
Everyone already saw
A pair of jean-clad legs appeared before me, and my suitcase and all my other stuff was dropped nearby.
"Whatcha doing down there?" Romeo drawled, his hands on his hips as he stared down at me with dancing blue eyes.
"Making a snow angel," I quipped. I glanced down at my hands, which were covered with wet snow and bits of salt (to keep the pavement from getting icy).
Clearly, ice wasn't required for me to fall.
A small group of girls just "happened by", and by that I mean they'd been staring at Romeo with puppy dog eyes and giving me the stink eye. When I fell, they took it as an opportunity to descend like buzzards stalking the dead. Their leader was the girl who approached me the very first day I'd worn Romeo's hoodie around campus and told me he'd get bored. As they stalked closer, looking like clones from the movie Mean Girls, I caught the calculating look in her eyes. This wasn't going to be good.
I pushed up off the ground so I wouldn't feel so vulnerable, but the new snow was slick and my hand slid right out from under me and I fell back again. Romeo was there immediately, the teasing light in his eyes gone as he slid his hand around my back and started to pull me up. "Careful, babe." he said gently.
The girls were behind him so I knew he hadn't seen them approach. They stopped as one unit, and I braced myself for whatever their leader was about to say.
She was wearing painted-on skinny jeans (I mean, really, how did she sit down and still breathe?) and some designer coat with a monogrammed scarf draped fashionably around her neck. Her boots were high-heeled, made of suede and laced up the back with contrasting ribbon.
"Wow," she said, opening her perfectly painted pink lips. "I saw that from way over there. That sure looked like it hurt." She said it fairly amicably, but anyone who could see the twist to her mouth as she said it would know better.
Romeo paused in lifting me to my feet. I felt his eyes on me. Then his lips thinned as he turned and looked over his shoulder.
"Ladies," he said like he was greeting a group of welcomed friends. Annoyance prickled my stomach like tiny needles stabbing me. It's not that I wanted him to be rude, but did he have to sound so welcoming?
"Romeo," Cruella DeBarbie (I don't know her real name, but this one fit) purred. "Haven't you grown bored of this clumsy mule yet?"
Unable to stop myself, I gasped and jumped up to my feet. If she wanted to call me a mule, I'd show her just how much of an ass I could be.
Romeo brought his arm out and stopped me from marching past. I collided into him, and if his fingers hadn't knowingly grabbed hold to steady me, I'd have fallen again.
"Actually," Romeo said, his voice calm, "I am pretty bored."
Three smirks were sent my way. What a bunch of idiots.
"The view from where I'm standing sure leaves a lot to be desired."
One by one, their eyes rounded when they realized the view he referenced was them.
Without another word, he pivoted around and looked down at me, his gaze going soft. "No need to make snow angels, baby," he said loud enough for the slack-jawed buzzards to hear. "You already look like one standing here with all that snow in your hair."
Before I could say a word, he picked me up and fastened his mouth to mine. My legs wound around his waist without thought, and I kissed him back as gentle snow fell against our faces.”
― Cambria Hebert, #Hater

“An entrepreneur is not deterred by his lack of perfection, he knows no one else is”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana, Pearls Of Eternity

“(...) rest content and satisfied that as you are caught in the noose of love it is one of worth and merit that has taken you, and one that has not only the the four S's that they say true lovers ought to have, but a complete alphabet; only listen to me and you will see how I can repeat it by rote. He is to my eyes and thinking, Amiable, Brave, Courteous, Distinguished, Elegant, Fond, Gay, Honorable, Illustrious, Loyal, Manly, Noble, Open, Polite, Quickwitted, Rich, and the S's according to the saying, and then Tender, Veracious: X does not suite him, for it is a rough letter; Y has been given already; and Z Zealous for your honour.”
― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

“Don't wait for a perfect husband, love a man endlessly to make him perfect.”
― Debasish Mridha

“Normally men don't really listen all that well. You can mention that you like apricots, or The Cure, or kittens, and it just goes out of their heads the minute it's out of your mouth. I personally seize on these clues about people. For example, I know that Sasha loves the smell of violets, and that Rose enjoys novels of a bodice-ripping nature and walks for exercise and has a Siamese cat called Dr. Oodles, but if I'd asked Dan what his best friend had studied at college- where they were roommates- he would have no idea.
Anyway, Edward was apparently different, because he'd sent me a gorgeous bouquet of roses that filled the room with an intense, sweetly lemony, rosy smell that was mind-blowing. The roses themselves were a rich cream and stuffed with petals that made them look like roses in paintings.
Sasha was looking at me.
"Well, you must have done something pretty amazing last night. I've been sketching these since I got in. They're the most gorgeous Madame Hardys I've seen in a long time." I could see she had also been getting her shit together; there were open cartons on her desk, and she'd brought her portfolio to the office.
"Aren't they roses?" I was bending down, sniffing deeply. I looked for a card.
Sasha laughed. "The name of the rose is Madame Hardy. It's a damask rose, and one of the most famous old roses available these days. Someone knows their flowers.”
― Abbi Waxman, The Garden of Small Beginnings

“She looked at his face, his lined, well-lived face. You were right. This perfect moment, in her once-desolate bedroom, was his belief at its apotheosis. She realized she wouldn’t have believed it before—that, in the most hopelessly constricted of places, you could find the fulfillment to all your dreams of adventure and romance.”
― Ray Smith, The Magnolia That Bloomed Unseen

“Oh! was there a man (but where shall I find
Good sense and good nature so equally join'd?)
Would value his pleasure, contribute to mine;
Not meanly would boast, nor would lewdly design;
Not over severe, yet not stupidly vain,
For I would have the power, tho' not give the pain.

No pedant, yet learned; no rake-helly gay,
Or laughing, because he has nothing to say;
To all my whole sex obliging and free,
Yet never be fond of any but me;
In public preserve the decorum that's just,
And shew in his eyes he is true to his trust;
Then rarely approach, and respectfully bow,
But not fulsomely pert, nor yet foppishly low.

But when the long hours of public are past,
And we meet with champagne and a chicken at last,
May ev'ry fond pleasure that moment endear;
Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear!
Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd,
He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud.
Till lost in the joy, we confess that we live,
And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive.

And that my delight may be solidly fix'd,
Let the friend and the lover be handsomely mix'd;
In whose tender bosom my soul may confide,
Whose kindness can soothe me, whose counsel can guide.”
― Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

“JOSEPH O'BRIEN

Notes on the basics: Flour, sugar. Only the best ingredients. Quarter to half cup of confectioners' sugar to make him just sweet enough, but not too much. Salt to complement the sweet. A good balance is essential. High-quality yeast. Vanilla extract because it goes well with just about everything. Royal icing to make him stick and never wander away. A pinch here and there of favorite herbs or spices (basil, oregano, anise, cinnamon, turmeric). Warm water, not too hot or you'll create a scalded man, angry and hard to live with. High-quality olive oil for helping him move through life with ease, never getting stuck or losing pieces of himself. Knead the dough just long enough--- very important. Kneading too long will make him hard and unbendable, like a rock in the stomach. Kneading not long enough will make him soft--- too weak, too pliable, a moldable mess in anyone's hands. Not a good man. Creativity, dreams, love: crucial ingredients, always.”
― Jennifer Moorman, The Baker's Man

“What will make him good and wholesome and kind?" Anna asked aloud.
"Chocolate?" Lily said, finishing off the bottle of rum.
Anna dropped in a palmful of dark cocoa powder. She added the leaves from three sprigs of rosemary because it was her favorite herb and because its woodsy scent would hopefully make him a lover of the outdoors. If she was making the most absurd recipe ever, why not go big with her additions? So she added a pinch of cinnamon because the season called for it, and then she sprinkled in cumin to give him a spicy, smoky edge.
Anna added a cashew-size glob of purple royal icing to the mix to make him loyal, then poured in a teaspoon of vanilla extract. She dipped a tablespoon into the sparkling, golden sugar. When she leveled it with her finger, warmth spread up her arm until it reached her head, where it tugged her lips into a smile. She added the special ingredient and shoved her hand into the dough to incorporate everything. Rather than olive oil, Anna poured canola oil into the bowl because he needed to be able to withstand the heat and not break down when life became too hot or too complicated.”
― Jennifer Moorman, The Baker's Man

“You can talk to me. I'm available for whatever you need. Venting, snuggles, a shoulder to cry on, a face to sit on. I'm your man.”
― Daphne Elliot, Mother Hater