Quotes About Infatuation

I need that unexplainable spark. I need to see someone and feel 'oh-oh'. It's only happened a few times in my life.

Jefferson reflected, "I think of her (a college infatuation) perhaps too much for my peace of mind. " Nevertheless, he was robbed of his considerable verbal powers when he got the chance to speak to the object of his affections.

I was obsessed with romance. When I was in high school, I saw 'Doctor Zhivago' every day from the day it opened until the day it left the theater.

From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my dreams

I am glad that my Adonis hath a sweet tooth in his head.

An amazing sight, someone you're infatuated with trying to fish something out of a jeans pocket.

The giddy, head-over-heels infatuation faded; it mellowed into something else. You got married, then divorced. Or your husband killed himself. Or your brain synapses became encased in gooey plaque and you started putting the frying pan in the icebox instead of in the cabinet where it belonged.

As for Kristoff, well, maybe Olaf was right. Maybe Kristoff does truly love me. I think I truly love him. At least, I think I could truly love him. We only met a couple of days ago. I don't want to think about true love yet.

First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context. This isolation, young love and hero worship accomplish without remorse; they hardly know tenderness.

Let me tell you about love. Love is a kind of madness and you would follow it anywhere, you don't care.

Whenever he was around, she'd get this look on her face, this kind of radiance. She was a beer poured too fast, her golden liquid spilling over the edge.

La manera en que Tristan la hacía reír, la manera en que la había atraído a su vida, la manera en que la había deleitado con su música - ¿Como podría alguna vez dejar su ansia de él?

Limerence is an obsessive, unrequited love. It is actually a disorder. A disease if you will.

I see a stranger on the street and suddenly his eyes are your eyes, his smile is your smile. I'm going crazy. Hallucinating. And it's all because of you.

There is something wrong with a person who loves ballpoint pens. I believe nothing so deeply as this.

All right, you caught me. I'm secretly obsessed with you and spend all my free time writing about you in my journal. 'Dear Diary, today Will was an ass for the 467th day in a row. He's so dreamy

I liked him first, but it doesn't matter. I still like him. That doesn't matter either. Or at least, it's not supposed to.

Because when I first saw you I thought?no, I knew?you were special. Because I still think that every time I look at you. Because I think you're smart and funny and brave. But most of all," he grins at me? "because I like questions.

He was looking at the most exciting woman he'd ever met.

He couldn't jeopardize the saloon because of some silly infatuation with an outlaw. Even one as beautiful as Mariah Ayers.

He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath.

He breathed in the mesmerizing scent, knowing that if he touched her, if he turned her to face him, if he looked into those bottomless green eyes, he would be lost forever.

Brody McTavish. Harper grimaced in embarrassment. She'd been half in love with him as far back as she could remember. Not that he had looked twice at her. He'd been the handsome rowdy teen she used to spy on from a distance.

The foolish man who, under the infatuation, believes that a particular beautiful woman has fallen for him verily dances to her tune as though he is her plaything!