Quotes About Relationships

For love to last, you had to have illusions or have no illusions at all. But you had to stick to one or the other. It was the switching back and forth that endangered things.

I feared Sarah was one of those women who instead of laughing said, That's funny, or instead of smiling said, That's interesting, or instead of saying, You are a stupid blithering idiot, said, Well I think it's a little more complicated than that.

Love is the answer, said the songs, and that's OK. It was OK, I supposed, as an answer. But no more than that. It was not a solution; it wasn't really even an answer, just a reply.

Love is a fever, she said. And when you come out of it you'll discover whether you've been lucky - or not.

This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grow sarcastic.

Like everyone he knew, he could discern the hollowness in people's charm only when it was directed at someone other than himself.

Perhaps she drives men away. Perhaps, without even being able to help herself, she just puts men into her ill-tempered car and drives them off: to quarries, dumps, small anonymous bodies of water.

Those are the love killers. They love you and then they kill you. They're from another planet. Supposedly.

It was true. Men could be with whomever they pleased. But women had to date better, kinder, richer, and bright, bright, bright, or else people got embarrassed.

My mother's capacity for happiness was a small soup bone salting a large pot.

Marriage, she felt, was a fine arrangement generally, except that one never got it generally. One got it very, very specifically.

Sometimes it seemed that she and rudy were two people attempting to tango, sweating and trying, long after the orchestra had grown tired, long after everyone else had gone home.

He calls you occasionally at the office to ask how you are. You doodle numbers and curlicues on the corners of Rolodex cards. Fiddle with your Phi Beta Kappa key. Stare out the window. You always, always, say: Fine.

I said nothing. If she wasn't careful, everyone would rush out of her life, life out of a burning building.

We curl up on the couch together, under a blanket, whisper I love you, I missed you, confusing tenses I think.

I don't have a love life. I have a like life.' Mamie smiled. She thought how nice that might be, to be peacefully free from love...

When affection fell on its ass, politeness could step up.

The key to marriage, she concluded, was just not to take the thing too personally.

He was thinking, but she could tell he wasn't good at it....'Where do you live,' she asked, 'and how do I get there?

Imagine a wife and a mistress sharing the same toothbrush forever and ever, never knowing.

There are lots of people in this world, Moss, but you can't be in love with them all.

He began to prefer talking on the phone to actually getting together with someone, preferred the bodilessness of it, and started to turn down social engagements. He didn't want to actually sit across from someone in a restaurant, look at their face, and eat food. He wanted to turn away, not deal with the face, have the waitress bring them two tin cans and some string so they could just converse, in a faceless dialogue.

Love drains from you, takes with it much of your blood sugar and water weight. You are like a house slowly losing its electricity, the fans slowing, the lights dimming and flickering; the clocks stop and go and stop.

Learn that you have a way of knowing each other which somehow slips out and beyond the ways you have of not knowing each other at all.