Quotes About Love

Well, religion has been passed down through the years by stories people tell around the campfire. Stories about God, stories about love. Stories about good spirits and evil spirits.

We will conserve what we love, love what we understand and understand what we are taught.

The universe is in fact the constantly reborn "child" of the lovemaking of the "Father" and "Mother," Shiva and Shakti, who at all moments dance in and out of, and merge with, each other's being with divine complexity, subtlety, passion, and ecstatic humor.

At the core of Christ's enterprise is an experience of this fire and the revolutionary passion of charity that blazes from it. This passion, as Christ knew and lived it, cannot rest until it has burnt down all the divisions that separate one human heart from another and so from reality.

If you fuse knowledge of your transcendent origin with tireless service in and for God, you will come, on earth and in this body, to know divine joy and be fed by the ceaseless passion-energy of divine love. Human and divine, inner peace and outer action, knowledge and love, will be married in you at ever greater depths to make you an ever more powerful and radiant warrior for Love and Justice in all dimensions.

One is perhaps too inclined to think only of him alive at some future time when we shall meet him again; but it is really so much more helpful to think of him as just separated from us for the present.

Try not to be self-conscious […] or so critical. Don't mope around looking for someone else to make you happy, and remember that the vast majority of homosexuals are looking for a superman to love and find it very difficult to love anyone merely human, which we unfortunately happen to be.

We want not only to be loved, but to be loved alone.

Love is a career with its own stages, rewards, and failures . . . a vocation as concrete as a calling in the Church, worth giving a lifetime to.

Go out dancing tonight, my dear, and go home with someone, and if the love doesn't last beyond the morning, then know I love you.

especially the young ones, come into the canyon for the first time, quiet as deer, some of them, coming to your hand for salt: their dark eyes wide and gleaming with the wonder and the fear we had all felt at seeing for the first time life as our dreams had always imagined it… at seeing so many people with whom they could fall in love. The old enchantment composed of lights, music, people was transfixing them for the first time, and it made their faces even more touching.

They were bound together by a common love of a certain kind of music, physical beauty, and style—all the things one shouldn't throw away an ounce of energy pursuing, and sometimes throw away a life pursuing.

Some live for love more than others. And he experienced a death that night.

when he said one evening, after they had ruined another lasagne, "When we're fifty, we'll probably be good cooks," Malone was deeply touched; for with those words he had said, "I'll love you till I die.

And the story of a boy's love for a boy will never capture the world's heart as the story of a boy's love for a girl.

I'd met him sitting in his car outside a men's room at the boat ramp in a town in North Central Florida. But at least once, in London, love and sex had been combined in the same person—love, sex, art, and freedom.

He had the misfortune to fall in love with a thug, who has threatened to kill Malone simply because Malone no longer loves him and was foolish enough to say so. Latins, my dear, are the only ones who take love seriously. Malone is now being chased around Manhattan by knives and bullets. He never has sex.

When you find the right girl, you must take her to Sandrudabad in April and see the flamboyant trees in bloom. There is nothing so wonderful as seeing the wonders of this earth with someone you love!

He went to Yale Club and wrote a long letter to his parents explaining his unhappiness with the law, and the next day he resigned from Courdet Brothers in order to "pursue a career in journalism." What he wished to pursue was a career in love.

In these ghostly places late summer nights: He was half-waiting to be born. Having vanished from his former life, having shed his previous self with the suits he had left behind in a basement in Washington, he was a ghost, in fact, waiting to come to life through love.

That must be love! Or is it what Dr. Rose Franzblau says in the Post? The mutual support of two mature people involved in separate quests for self-realization.

Isn't it strange that when we fall in love, this great dream we have, this extraordinary disease, the only thing in which eather one of us is interested, it's inevitably with some perfectly ordinary drip who for some reason we cannot define is the magic bearer, the magician, the one who brings all this to us. Why?

Little wonder that he wandered in these ghostly places late summer nights: He was waiting to be born (...) he was a ghost, in fact, waiting to come to life through love

He was a prisoner of love.