Quotes About Love

Do you no longer believe in your luck?' 'You're not my luck, fallen angel, or even my dearest friend. You're my love. My true love.

And what of those losses that seem unbearable? Separations from people we feel we can't live without?' 'Perhaps our ruin honours the strength of our love.

I had to give myself up to you for your lifetime. What is faith when you feel you've lost something forever? I had to have you--someone I could lose forever.

I know that you're a virgin and as bodiless as any paralytic. I know I'm old and not as handsome as I once was. But I know you love me as I love you.' And he kissed the angel.

And why should I do such a thing- tell you something that can only dismay you? Well, that is the nature of love: it is brutal in its demands.

He was my husband, my apartment mate, my soul mate, the father of the little plant in my confused soil, the lover who had made me adore his body without inhibition after my years of relative solitude, the person for whom I'd given up my old self.

Doesn't every love express itself this way, with the seeds of both its flowering and its ruin in the very first words, the first breath, the first though?

We couldn't be sure of anything except the power of love…and we are under no requirement to believe in a particular source of that love as long as we could keep giving and receiving some in our own lives.

but the first days of loving someone are vivid; you remember them in detail because they represent all the others. They even explain why a particular love doesn't work out.

God sees. God hears. God cares.

So much of what we do each day is a diversion from what our lives are really about. A traumatic event is like a knife slicing through our diversionary tactics and exposing the vein of truth—the truth of what we really want, of how we really feel, of the wrongs we have visited upon each other, of the love we crave from each other.

The greatest stories ever told trace a path through the charred and exalted landscape of romantic love.

Full-hearted fatherhood might save the world.

Does that mean you

I told you--ten minutes, he said, breathing heavily. I don't know how to c-count, Janna said, trying to blink back tears and laughter at the same time. Ty swung up on Lucifer, brought the stallion alongside Zebra and gave Jenna a fierce kiss. Sweet liar.

Elizabeth Lowell

People think librarians are unromantic, unimaginative. This is not true. We are people whose dreams run in particular ways. Ask a mountain climber what he feels when he sees a mountain; a lion tamer what goes through his mind when he meets a new lion; a doctor confronted with a beautiful malfunctioning body. The idea of a library full of books, the books full of knowledge, fills me with fear and love and courage and endless wonder.

truthfully, this is the fabric of all my fantasies: love shown not by a kiss or a wild look or a careful hand but by a willingness for research. i don't dream of someone who understands me immediately, who seems to have known me my entire life, who says, i know me too. i want someone keen to learn my own strange organization, amazed at what's revealed; someone who asks, and then what, and then what?

but you can't spend your whole life hoping people will ask you the right questions. you must learn to love and answer the questions they already ask.

Despite popular theories, I believe people fall in love based not on good looks or fate but on knowledge. Either they are amazed by something a beloved knows that they themselves do not know; or they discover a common rare knowledge; or they can supply knowledge to someone who's lacking. Hasn't everyone found a strange ignorance in someone beguiling? . . .Nowadays, trendy librarians, wanting to be important, say, Knowledge is power. I know better. Knowledge is love.

The idea of a library full of books, the books full of knowledge, fills me with fear and love and courage and endless wonder.

I didn't know what it was I was feeling. Then I realized it was seeing someone and knowing immediately that you love him.

I'm thinking of that Florida lady again, the one who wanted a book about the lighter side of a child's death, and I know: all she wanted was permission to remember her child with pleasure instead of grief. To remember that he was dead, but to remember him without pain: he's dead but of course she still loves him, and that love isn't morbid or bloodstained or unsightly, it doesn't need to be shoved away.

wasn't there some statistic somewhere she'd read, about where most people meet their spouse, that claimed weddings were the third most popular place, after university and the work place. she was sure that she had. something to do with all that romantic optimism in the air, and too much champagne, no doubt.