Quotes About Love

how when you love someone, you take that person into your body, your fingertips predicting their angles and curves; how you smell like them in the morning.

Love was foolish and inevitable. We were just waiting to be shattered by it. The days were finite, full of awe.

Can you love a work of art if the person who produced it was truly awful?

Years later, admiring his dark-haired daughter, the light of his life, in the city he wouldn't have been able to find on a map back when he lived in Germany, he understood that even pain could bring joy. It wasn't a trade-off, and it didn't give him comfort; it was just something true.

No more past. I study the future, okay?" He kisses me, so sweetly my heart melts. "Only the future." I know I'm looking up at him with stars in my eyes, and I don't care. I love that, at last, I can show Luca exactly how I feel, and he can do the same. We're free. Finally, we're free. "The future is here in this room, Violetta," he says to me. " Questo è il nostro futuro. " "This is our future.

You should hear what that creep told her. He was in love, she was the only one he'd ever felt like this about, she was the most beautiful girl in the world-- you know." I don't, actually. No boy has ever said those words to me. But I nod as if one has.

L'amore è bello ." Love is beautiful.

Se scorre un fiume dentro ad ogni cuore, arriveremo al mare prima o poi ," he says, looking down at me. "More Jovanotti," he adds, smiling, as he sees me staring at him in confusion. Jovanotti is Luca's favorite singer; he's quoted songs of his before to me. But I don't know this one. "'If a river runs inside every heart, we will arrive at the sea,'" he translates.

In the wake of a human being's death, what survives is a set of afterglows, some brighter and some dimmer, in the collective brains of those who were dearest to them...Though the primary brain has been eclipsed, there is, in those who remain...a collective corona that still glows. - Douglas Hofstadter

It seems the more of a parent you are, the less you are of anything else.

Some sort of weird, shared inexplicable draw to fall in love with people who hurt and betray us.

I think I'll always love him.

There were plenty of great guys out there, and there was no need to get stuck on a jerk. Even if he was adorable and seemed perfectly sweet and genuine. Emily

First loves were powerful and private, and they stayed with you a very long time. A lifetime. You could love your current partner more than anyone else on earth, but there would always be a small, intimate piece of your heart tucked away for the person you loved first.

Jag kupade händerna om tändaren för att skydda lågan från vinden, och när min hud nuddade hans kände jag hur det fladdrade till i bröstet. Var det lust, kärlek eller bara ett tidigt tecken på lungcancer?

I know historians aren't supposed to fall in love with their own theories, but I was head over heels about the notion of an entire band of female French agents, like a nineteenth-century Charlie's Angels. Only better. It made the Pink Carnation's organization look positively humdrum.

If a man took a lover it would be accounted commonplace. Why shouldn't you? Your virtue lies in your mind, not in what lies between your legs.

There's nothing like competing for your boyfriend's attention with an emotionally needy sibling to make you feel like the worst sort of evil psycho-bitch.

there is no friend like a sister / In calm or stormy weather; / To cheer one on the tedious way, / To fetch one if one goes astray, / To lift one if one totters down, / To strengthen whilst one stands.'" Bea was much struck by this. "How lovely

If you want to be loved, don't take on responsibility.

Love is supposed to ennoble the soul, not degrade it.

If you want to be loved, don't take on responsibility.

he just didn't want to share him with anyone. Ever. She wanted to be the person his eyes sought out in a crowded ballroom, the person he nudged when he had a really smashing joke he just had to tell, the first person he saw when he woke up in the morning, and the last person he spoke to when he went to bed at night. She wanted to be the one whose ear he whispered in at the opera, and the one perched next to him in his alarmingly tottery phaeton when he drove in the park at five.

She could only hold on to her husband with both hands and promise herself that the best way to keep someone was to let him go.