Quotes About Love

Your love, a sword made of moonlight and blood.

I had noticed, for example, how all my infatuations dissolved as soon as I really became friends with a man, became sympathetic to his problems, listened to him kvetch about his wife, or ex-wives, his mother, his children. After that I would like him, perhaps even love him—but without passion.

want to beg you, as much as I can, to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue.

Is love freedom or is it bondage?

If we are all made of God, it is our friends who remind us. We pass the gift of God to them. They pass it back to us when we need it most.

But I am wise if not yet quite old, wanting the poem more than the lover, wanting words more than the sticky dew men secrete in their private places.

I am unimaginably old—fifty. Only witches live to be fifty! Good women die in childbirth at seventeen as I nearly did. By fifty I should be dead or a crone—with my dark looks and my somewhat crooked spine—which I have always disguised with capes of multicolored silk. My youth is gone, but my vanity is not. How can I still dream of love at fifty? I must be mad!

If I loved him, would I censor my writing to please him? If I married him, would I force my writing to be married as well?

There's no shame in loving life above death. Otherwise I would be dead. What use would that be to the gods, who will not die themselves?

Sometimes it seems both our kids and our parents were smarter than we were. We fell somewhere between our parents' thirties idealism and our kids' eighties cynicism. Somewhere deep down we still believe that all we need is love, love, love. Somewhere deep down we question how we got grey hair. How on earth did we get to be the grown-ups? The wonder is that our kids are growing up -- despite all that we did to destroy them.

If you were lucky enough to feel safe enough to fight and struggle, then you were lucky indeed. If you felt loved enough to scream and yell and exercise your power openly, the marriage had a fifty-fifty chance.

And then there are the eternal questions of love and sex. Can there be friendship between men and women as long as the hormones rage and rule? How is sex related to love -- and love to sex? Are we truly pigeonholed in our sexuality -- or does society alone insist on this? What is 'straight'? What is 'gay'? What is 'bi'? And does any of it matter deep in one's soul? Shouldn't we get rid of these labels in an attempt to be really open to ourselves and to each other?

Does love even have a sex? I doubt it. If you are lucky enough to love, who cares what decorative flesh your lover sports? The divine delta, that juicy fig, the powerful phallus, that scepter of state- each is only an aspect of Aphrodite, after all. We are all hermaphrodites at heart- aren't we? The delta is as soft as Aphrodite, the phallus stiff as Ares' spear. And no one wears anything for long but a coat of dust. Only the songs of passion linger

My real despair came because Aphrodite withdrew her favours. Aphrodite needs nothing from me. She always has new singers to celebrate her. So what if they are my students, acolytes, and imitators? So what if they learned everything they know from me? The goddess of love favours the young. She always has

Husband and wife have no time left to spend together. Marriage took away our one reason for getting married.

Being loved by the world is no substitute for having been loved by one person when you were small

You are the reason I wake up with a smile on my face, and the reason I go to sleep with a sense of belonging in this world

Ce matou-là ne fait pas de différences entre les câlins français et les câlins allemands, murmura Bernstein. Il n'a rien compris à la guerre. - C'est-à-dire qu'il a tout compris.

Quel homme possède jamais une femme ? Quel homme possède jamais la vérité ?

Guarda Momo. La Senna adora i ponti, è come una donna che va matta per i braccialetti.

It doesn't matter,' Monsieur Ibrahim said. 'Your love for her belongs to you. It is yours. Even if she refuses it, she cannot change it. She isn't benefiting from it, that's all. What you give, Momo, is yours forever. What you keep is lost for all time!

Tot el m-a ajutat ÅŸi s? cred în tine. Sunt plin? de iubire, Doamne, parc? m? arde pe din?untru, mi-a d?ruit atâta, încât s?-mi ajung? pentru toÅ£ii anii de-acum încolo.

Momo: [reading Ibrahim's will] This is my will and testament. I, Ibrahim Demirdji, hereby leave all my goods to Moses Schmitt, my son Momo because he chose me as his father and because I've given him everything I've learned in this life. Now you too will know what's in my Koran, Momo. It's all there is to know.

Or ce que Chris n'avait pas prévu, c'est que l'inverse arrive également : qu'un homme bien devienne une ordure. S'il y a des rédemptions, il y a aussi des damnations. Et elles sont toujours volontaires. Quand un accident introduit une cassure dans leur existence, les hommes réagissent diversement, Axel s'était enfermé dans le dégoût cynique de l'humanité, Chris ouvert à l'amour des autres.