Quotes About Love

It was hard for her not to feel that a person loving her was making a big mistake. Because she knew herself better than they did, so knew their love was given in error.

indeed these men had the dangerous look that Frank associated with machismo, the look of men who oppressed their women so cruelly that naturally the women struck back where they could, terrorizing sons who then terrorized wives who terrorized sons and so on and so on, in an endless death spiral of twisted love and sex hatred. So that in that sense they were all madmen.

When I'm with you I feel faintly anxious, judged, inadequate. Not the kind of person you like, which I find offensive, and thus behave more like that part of me than ever. Though I want your good opinion too, but that desire I find irritating, and so contradicted in myself. Why should I care? You don't care. And yet you do care. I love you, you said. And she wanted him to feel that way when he was with her.

And this is a very great gift; this, in the end, is what we think love gives, which is to say meaning. Because there is no very obvious meaning to be found in the universe, as far as we can tell. But a consciousness that cannot discern a meaning in existence is in trouble, very deep trouble, for at that point there is no organizing principle, no end to the halting problems, no reason to live, no love to be found. No: meaning is the hard problem.

It was hard for her not to feel that a person loving her was making a big mistake, because she knew herself better than they did, so knew their love was given in error, and thus they must be some kind of fool. And yet it was precisely that misplaced love she wanted; someone who would like you more than you do; someone who likes you despite yourself; someone more generous to you than you are.

Scared of her, solicitous of her, in love with her—she had seen all that. And shouting at her furiously for some small treachery, or for nothing at all; she had certainly seen that too. Because he had loved her.

When memory fails to contain us we must love the past more than ever, to hold it to us—or else the present becomes a meaningless blaze of color and sound, in which no two humans, great elongate beings, will be able to do more than touch at their very lips, their spatial selves—no one will ever truly understand another. To love the past is to become fully human.

monocausotaxophilia, the love of single ideas that explain everything, one of humanity's most common cognitive errors.

Matthew 9:22 (NLT): "Jesus turned around, and when he saw her he said, 'Daughter, be encouraged!

When you have sex with someone, you willingly give them a part of your soul that you can never get back. So why not wait for the one

but this time around, she had tried to be more trusting. She'd told herself that being paranoid, skeptical, and insecure wasn't good, and that maybe Tim really did love her as much as he said he did. She had also decided that he didn't seem like the kind of man who would be unfaithful, not with his regularly talking

So why not wait for the one man who genuinely loves you and who wants to spend the rest of his life with you?

her unfortunate and unfair childhood, she hadn't. And as much as she hated to admit it, deep down, she still resented her sister for having a much better father than she'd had—a father who had loved and adored her, spent time with her one to two weekends every month, and who had willingly made his child support payments on

isn't it worth taking a chance? I never thought so in the past, but i can honestly say now that i'd rather have a few minutes of extraordinary with you than a lifetime of nothing special without you.

Do it for joy and you can do it forever

Yes. Your attitude measures up to the two requirements of love. You want to go to bed with her and can't, and you don't know her very well. Ignorance of the other person topped up with deprivation, Jim. You fit the formula all right, and what's more you want to go on fitting it. The old hopeless passion, isn't it?

the gaps in sensitivity displayed are vast. Concepts that have not often been surpassed For ignorance or downright nastiness - That the habit of indifference is less Destructive than the embrace of love, that crimes Are paid for never or a thousand times, That the gentle come to grief - all these are forced Into scenes, dialogue, comments, and endorsed By the main action, manifesting there An inhumanity beyond despair.

Love is a finding-out: Our walk to the bedroom (Hand in hand, eye to eye) Up a stair of marble Or decently scrubbed boards, As much as what we do In our abandonment, Teaches us who we are And what we are, and what Life itself is.

Should poets bicycle-pump the human heart Or squash it flat? - a Bookshop Idyll

She wore no jewellery, just her wedding ring.

Ts! Ts! said Kaa, shaking his head to and fro. I also have known what love is. There are tales I could tell that— That need a clear night when we are all well fed to praise properly, said Bagheera, quickly.

Leelawati was sitting on a swing in the palace. Without meaning to, i ran towards her. She swung herself from the swing straight into my arms and hugged me. She wouldn't let go of me and i wasn't about to let go of her. To be trusted so, without any reservations, i too must have been up to some good in my past lives.

We're both of the same breed, after all … motives for war are of no concern. Religion, ideology, resources, land, grudges, love, or just because… No matter how pathetic the reason, it's enough to start a war. Out of love, sacrifice is born. Hate is born. and we are able to know pain! If you don't share someone's pain, you can never understand them. But just because you understand them doesn't mean you can come to an agreement. That's the truth.

enkele grote gevoelens blijven het mensenhart bezighouden: eerzucht en liefde, eenzaamheid en honger, vriendschap en angst voor de dood - of verlangen daarnaar.