Quotes About Love

what was she like? she loved him, really loved him then, for an instant. this, this was easier.

i'm not sure either of them had a great capacity for love, that was all. it's funny - mine feels bottomless.

I choose you. And I'll choose you. Over and over and over. Without pause, Without a doubt, in a heartbeat. I'll keep choosing you.

Making the decision to have a child—it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go

When your sweet new baby falls asleep in your arms, you look down at your child and the sensation of fierce protectiveness rises to the surface as subtle as a tsunami.

there is no such thing as holding a baby too often, cuddling a baby too much, kissing a baby too many times, singing too many lullabies, or breastfeeding a baby too often. When it comes to babies, there is definitely no such thing as too much love, and babies define love in very physical ways. I

love has a most unfortunate effect on the brain

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said softly, I love you, Mother. He took my hand and kissed it, and folded my fingers round the stem of the rose. He had stripped it of its thorns.

I love you, he said flatly. I--love--you. Shall I elaborate? I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you. I didn't want to love you. I tried not to love you. I will undoubtably regret loving you, but--God help me--I love you--so much.

love has a very dulling effect on the brain

She is fiercely protective of all those she loves, Emerson. She would take your part just as vigorously if someone were unkind to you.' 'D'you think so?' Emerson considered this idea. 'I refuse to pick a quarrel with you so that Sennia can defend you. She'll get over it; just be polite to Gargery.' 'Damnation,' said Emerson

Emerson bent a tender look upon his son and heir. 'Very well, Ramses; Papa will find you all the dead bodies you want.

In the gloomy corridor of that sepulchre I had felt Emerson's arms about me for the first time; along the rubble-strewn floor of the wadi we had raced by moonlight to save those we loved from a hideous death. Every foot of the way was familiar to me, and the spot was as fraught with romance as a garden of roses might be to one who had led a more boring life.

Emerson, do you mean it?' 'It is only your due, my dear Peabody. Spite and selfishness alone kept me from beginning on them long ago. You deserve pyramids, and pyramids you will have!

The man had no more romance in his soul than a codfish

So I went upstairs, to console the other half of the pair of heartbroken lovers, and a tedious business it was too, when a little common sense on both parts would have settled the matter to the satisfaction of all. With

I love you," he said flatly. "I--love--you. Shall I elaborate? I have loved you. I do love you. I will love you. I didn't want to love you. I tried not to love you. I will undoubtedly regret loving you, but--God help me--I love you--so much--" "That's what I thought you said," I murmured.

Other attempts ensued. I was visited by streams of attentive nieces and nephews assuring me of their devotion—which had been demonstrated, over the past years, by their absence.

I am sure I need not explain to any sensible (that is, female) reader why I woke the following morning absolutely furious with Emerson. Such are the vacillations of the human heart; and I have observed that the farther one goes in one direction, the more violent the swing in the opposite direction will be.

I was not unsympathetic with John's mood, but I did hope he was not about to transfer his affections from Charity to the mummy. Charity had not encouraged him, but there can be no more unresponsive recipient of love than a woman who has been dead for seventeen hundred years, give or take a century.

When my grandmother touches my hair in my sleep, I feel like a lost child. There is never enough of her to comfort me.

His house to me was a child was a heart of happiness. If there is a wonder childhood possesses which makes it forever superior to what shall come after, it is the happy and uncritical love of whatever is happy, place or person, it does not matter which.

I suspect the most we can hope for, and it's no small hope, is that we never give up, that we never stop giving ourselves permission to try to love and receive love.

Olive's private view is that life depends on what she thinks of as big bursts and little bursts. Big bursts are things like marriage or children, intimacies that keep you afloat, but these big bursts hold dangerous, unseen currents. Which is why you need the little bursts as well: a friendly clerk at Bradlee's, let's say, or the waitress at Dunkin' Donuts who knows how you like your coffee. Tricky business, really.