Quotes About Love

I tell you, I will never understand the mystery of love. A woman comes to a man because she wants only him; then she cannot bear the sound of air moving in and out of his nostrils. She cannot bear the sight of his shadow upon the pavement!

You don't do so well with marriage. I don't think you've begun to realize all there is for you to love. And I know you better than anyone & here's what I know about you: You have so much love to give! But I feel like you're all the time digging in the tomato bin, saying, Where are the apples?

And she finally told Nola that she was so worried about whether she could love two children, about whether she could make room in her heart for as much love as she felt for Bobby. Wasn't it betraying Bobby, to love another child? And Nola told her what her sister Patricia had said, after having her second. Patricia said she felt like she'd grown a second heart.

I miss you," he says. "I still miss you, sweetheart. Every day is like the first day I lost you.

I don't think it's foolish. I don't think love is ever foolish.

Nothing will brings lovers closer together than people trying to keep them apart.

what John likes best are the small and undramatic moments that make for a kind of easy comfort, for a feeling of being grounded in a relationship.

real love is when the other person is your best friend and you shouldn't have to work hard around them, it should be, like, more natural, and you just want to be with them even if you're not doing anything.

There are certain things in your life that will become every important to you. You might not be able to explain to anyone else why they're important. But you will expect the people who love you, the people who are your family, to respect those things.

I do not believe the loss of a child is something one ever overcomes. One puts on the faces one needs, but inside, one bleeds and bleeds.

He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the good place, and a heart-shaped leaf lay trapped in the hollow if his throat as though it were planned, though of course it was so perfect it couldn't have been planned.

He tells her that, when Nola first died, he thought he'd die himself, of the sorrow.

Nona leans forward, I had-a love. I nod. You know how it was? It was like-a trees. Oak and elm. Her voice has been soft, like it was lost in memory, but now she stares at me, her eyes narrowed, and she makes a fist and pounds the side of her chair. The roots, they bound-a together, but the trees, they are free. You know what it's-a mean?

What mattered was that at the end, someone who loved her sat by her, saying, I see you. I

She believes that her last chance for love just died, and her last chance was her first love, and there is something about that that is awfully hard to bear. Think about it. To know you're at the end of hoping for love and to realize that something else will have to do, if you're going to have any reason to go on.

When my submission has been claimed, no longer in the name of love and friendship but by reason of some right or power, I have drawn upon the strength that is buried in my nature, I have straightened my shoulders and thrown off the yoke. I alone know the latent force hidden within me. I alone know how much I grieve and suffer and love. —George Sand

What mattered was that at the end, someone who loved her sat by her, saying, I see you.

I am in agreement with Goethe, who said that every day one ought to 'hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.' I would add to this the need to love. Without it, the rest is dust.

I think love is all about risk. And reinvention. And honesty and revelation. And if you don't have that in a relationship, you don't grow, and you don't stay true to what you started together.

No, love is never foolish. Or unnecessary.

It's funny how, oftentimes, the people you love the most are given the least margin for error.

And so, what of it all? What of me and my passions and personas, my great loves and failures of love, my writing, my politics? What of the clanging opinions, the endless queries as to the whys and wherefores of how I chose to conduct myself? In the end, there is but one answer to every question, whether it is spit at me or made as gentlest inquiry: I was I.

I could still taste and smell and hear and see," she said. "I could still learn and I could still teach. I could still love and be loved. I had my mind and my spirit. And I had you.

I understood, that he was right in asking to be cremated. For if he was nowhere, he could be everywhere. As in, with me.