Wedding Night Quotes

“Good morning, good morning, good morning," Loki chirped, wheeling in a table covered with silver domes.
"What are you doing?" I asked, squinting at him. He'd pulled up the shades. I was tired a hell, and I was not happy.
"I thought you two lovebirds would like breakfast," Loki said. "So I had the chef whip you up something fantastic." As he set up the table in the sitting area, he looked over at us. "Although you two are sleeping awfully far apart for newly weds."
"Oh my god." I groaned and pulled the covers over my head.
"You know, I think you're being a dick," Tove told him as he got out of bed. "But I'm starving. So I'm willing to overlook it. This time."
"A dick?" Loki pretended to be offended. "I'm merely worried about your health. If your bodies aren't used to strenous activities, like a long night of love making, you could waste away if you don't get plenty of protein and rehydrate. I'm concerned for you."
"Yes we both believe that's why you're here," Tove said sarcastically and took a glass of orange juice that Loki had just poured for him.
"What about you princess?" Loki's gaze cut to me as he filled another glass.
"I'm not hungry."I sighed and sat up.
"Oh really?" Loki arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean that last night-"
"It means last night is none of your business," I snapped.”
― Amanda Hocking, Ascend

“Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there;
She gives the best light to his sphere;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.”
― John Donne, The Complete English Poems

“A bride, before a "Good-night" could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
But now she's laid; what though she be?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.”
― John Donne, The Complete English Poems

“When I said yes,
it implies till death,
and forever thence.

When I said love,
it connotes trust,
allied in situations tough.

And today,
when I hold your hand,
I am prepared to stand,
any trouble,
any avalanche.”
― Jasleen Kaur Gumber

“Je t'aime, Lottie. Plus qu'un zloty." I hesitate, not sure what to say. "Well, it's a start...."
"'I love you, Lottie, More that a zloty'?" Lorcan translates incredulously. "Seriously?"
"Lottie's a difficult rhyme!" Richard says defensively. "You try!"
"You could have used 'potty,'" suggests Noah. "'I love you, Lottie, Sitting on the potty.'"
"Thanks, Noah," says Richard grouchily. "Appreciate it.”
― Sophie Kinsella, Wedding Night

“A divorce is like a controlled explosion. Everyone on the outside is OK.”
― Sophie Kinsella, Wedding Night

“Frozen in time, captured in memories, filled in passion, she melted in love before his eyes.”
― Luffina Lourduraj

“Inanna spoke:
"What I tell you
Let the singer weave into song.
What I tell you,
Let it flow from ear to mouth,
Let it pass from old to young:

My vulva, the horn,
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.

As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?

As for me, the young woman,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will station the ox there?
Who will plow my vulva?"

Dumuzi replied:
"Great Lady, the king will plow your vulva.
I, Dumuzi the King, will plow your vulva."

Inanna:
"Then plow my vulva, man of my heart!
Plow my vulva!”
― Diane Wolkstein, Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer

“I feel scalded inside. Like, third-degree burns. But no one can see them. (Fliss talking about her divorce.)”
― Sophie Kinsella, Wedding Night

“Underpants! Underpants!”
― Sophie Kinsella, Wedding Night

“And, no, they haven't done it." I put him out of his misery.
"Done what?" asks Noah.
"Put the sausage in the cupcake," says Lorcan, draining his coffee.
"Lorcan!" I snap. "Don't say things like that!"
Noah explodes with laughter. "Put the sausage in the cupcake!" he crows. "The sausage in the cupcake!"
Great. I glare at Lorcan, who stares back, unmoved. And, anyway, cupcake? I've never heard it called that.”
― Sophie Kinsella, Wedding Night

“Their wedding night was in all truth a thing of beauty: the splendor of the celebrations, the hushed intimacy of a private walk under the cryptic light of a large moon, the unexpected delight discovered in the reflection of a candle's flicker in a decanter of aged wine, finally the silent weeping in each other's arms through a night that seemed infinite in its innumerable dimensions.”
― Robert Coover, Pricksongs and Descants

“A Faery Song

Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.

We who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:

Give to these children, new from the world,
Silence and love;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the stars above:

Give to these children, new from the world,
Rest far from men.
Is anything better, anything better?
Tell us it then:

Us who are old, old and gay,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.”
― W.B. Yeats, The Rose

“A picture perfect day for a picture perfect wedding.”
― Melody Snow Monroe, Craving Candy

“May your wedding night be like a kitchen table, all legs and no drawers.”
― Melinda Heald, The Promise of Sunrise

“There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:

A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy

Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Dear newlywed wife, somebody out there is determined to shape your view of intimacy and marriage. You get to choose who will shape your opinion; the Author of marriage or offended humans?”
― Ngina Otiende, The Wedding Night: Embracing Sexual Intimacy as New Bride

“A misty vision of Francesca gazed down at me from a corner of the window. She gave me her wicked-sweet smile and the stars sparked in her pale hair. I wanted to call to her, but I had no voice. I smelled the mixed scents of her, and I imagined the lush, tropical feast I'd prepare for her on our wedding night.
I'd slip raw oysters between her lips. We'd share ripe figs and plump, dewy cherries. I'd offer her sweetmeats and honeyed milk, blood oranges peeled and ready, salty artichokes stripped down to the heart. I'd pry open a lobster shell and feed her tender morsels of meat, slowly, slowly. The flavors would mingle and mount and burst inside us like soft explosions. I wanted to believe it would all be possible.
I imagined her staring into my eyes while she dragged a buttered artichoke leaf between her teeth and sucked on the flesh. It was good. I rode through the long, lovely night on wave upon wave of pleasure, smelling her, tasting her, touching her...
I heard myself moan, and in that fierce embrace, I believed.”
― Elle Newmark, The Book of Unholy Mischief

“Sometimes it is not the marriage that is boring, it’s your life. ⁣”
― Richie Norton

“They say that you're not the same person once you get married on your wedding day. On your wedding night, however, you're definitely not feeling yourself anymore.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Our level of appreciation shows in how we treat our husband. If he’s first in our minds, he’ll be first in our priorities. If he’s indeed special, you pursue him, initiate intimacy, and go out of your way to make him cherished.”
― Ngina Otiende, The Wedding Night: Embracing Sexual Intimacy as New Bride

“The male majority in the world, especially in Asia enforce the self-ego-verdict of only its wishes for entire life upon female journey-mate, during the Wedding Night instead of love and respect; consequently, the women become the victim of men. This unjust custom rejects the rights of a woman at both laws, judicial and religious.”
― Ehsan Sehgal

“After bidding her family good-bye, Beatrix went out to the front drive with Christopher. He had changed from his uniform, with its gleaming jangle of medals, and wore simple tweed and broadcloth, with a simple white cravat tied at his neck. She much preferred him this way, in rougher, simpler clothing- the splendor of Christopher in military dress was nearly too dazzling to bear. The sun was a rich autumn gold, lowering into the black nest of treetops.
Instead of the carriage Beatrix had expected, there was a single horse on the drive, Christopher's large bay gelding.
Beatrix turned to give him a questioning look. "Don't I get a horse? A pony cart? Or am I to trot along behind you?"
His lips twitched. "We'll ride together, if you're willing. I have a surprise for you."
"How unconventional of you."
"Yes, I thought that would please you." He helped her to mount the horse, and swung up easily behind her.
No matter what the surprise was, Beatrix thought as she leaned back into his cradling arms, this moment was bliss. She savored the feel of him, all his strength around her, his body adjusting easily to every movement of the horse. He bade her to close her eyes as they went into the forest. Beatrix relaxed against his chest. The forest air turned sweeter as it cooled, infused with scents of resin and dark earth.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“He turned toward Beatrix and slid his fingers beneath her chin, nudging her to look at him. "What's this?" His voice gentled. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Beatrix said, seeing him through a shimmer of tears. "Absolutely nothing. It's just... I spent so many hours in this place, dreaming of being with you someday. But I never dared to believe it could really happen."
"You had to believe, just a little," Christopher whispered. "Otherwise it wouldn't have come true.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Pulling her between his spread thighs, he wrapped her in a comforting hug. After a long time, he spoke quietly into her hair. "Beatrix. One of the reasons I haven't made love to you since that afternoon is that I didn't want to take advantage of you again."
"You didn't," she protested. "I gave myself to you freely."
"Yes, I know." Christopher kissed her head. "You were generous, and beautiful, and so passionate that you've ruined me for any other woman. But it wasn't what I had intended for your first time. Tonight I'm going to make amends."
Beatrix shivered at the sensual promise of his tone. "There's no need. But if you insist..."
"I do insist." He smoothed his hand over her back and continued to hold her, making her feel safe. And then he began to kiss his way along the side of her neck, his mouth hot and deliberate, and she began to feel not entirely safe. She drew in a quick breath as he lingered at a sensitive place.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“Opening the lid, Beatrix found her neatly folded clothes and a drawstring muslin bag containing a brush and a rack of hairpins, and other small necessities. There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:

A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy

Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“They emerged from the bed some time later to feast on the delectable cold supper that had been left for them, slices of game pie, salads, ripe black plums, cake soaked in elderflower cordial.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Love in the Afternoon

“He smiled, that gay clean smile of his that I knew so well and that had so often been like a light to me. For one of those brief magic moments of time the years slipped away, and I was back in the tiny old cottage in Sussex that a friend had loaned to us for a few days. It was our wedding night and Bill was saying, "All of me to you, darling, forever."

Yes, that was it: all of each of us to the other. Forever. Whatever.”
― Elizabeth Yates, The Lighted Heart

“A wedding doesn't always mean that the husband will be married to his wife.”
― Tamerlan Kuzgov