Quotes About Love

I think we dream so we don't have to be apart for so long. If we're in each other's dreams, we can be together all the time.

Sometimes,' said Pooh, 'the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.

If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart. I'll stay there forever.

Sometimes being real means allowing pain or accepting a painful truth. Yet something in us aligns with an inner ground of authenticity when we are real. We love it because of its inherent rightness in our soul, the sense of "Aha, here I am and there is nothing to do but be.

Your environment wasn't supportive, wasn't loving, did not respond to you ... The fundamental thing that happened, and the greatest calamity, is not that there was no love or support. The greater calamity, which is caused by the first calamity is that you lost the connection to your essence. That is much more important than whether your mother or father loved you or not.

Love, compassion, kindness, and generosity change their function from being motivations for practice to becoming expressions of realization.

We are thus offered a fundamental and joyfully liberating release from our addiction to searching for love from outside, by realizing the truth that the most powerful experience of love is available within us, simply waiting for us to discover it. And it is in our own souls that love moves us toward our deepest nature, acting as the fuel for unfoldment and revelation and dissolving what separates us from the truth of what we are.

It is not surprising that with the experience of our own age, suffering should come foremost, and out of suffering, in the end, emergence, fortitude, loyalty, faith in each other, overwhelming love.

Because the intimacy is extended to Sontag's reader, the love story becomes an implicit ménage à trois. Each essay enacts the effort — the dialectic of struggle, doubt, ecstasy and letdown — to know another writer, and to make you know him, too. And, more deeply though also more discreetly, to know her.

It was because I craved the drama of her ambivalence, the tenacity of her enthusiasm, the sting of her doubt. I read those books because I needed to be with her. Is it too much to say that I was in love with her? Who was she, anyway?

Where but in the very asshole of comedown is redemption: as where but brought low, where but in the grief of failure, loss, error do we discern the savage afflictions that turn us around: where but in the arrangements love crawls us through

Remember us. Remember us as we used to be, before the universe turned against us. Young, beautiful, strong, brave, admirable, loved, loving...' --Alema Rar

Vader wasn't a galaxy-conquering psychopath. He was a sad man whose one love in life had died, and whose one anchor to the world of the living was, yes, a galaxy-conquering madman.

Maybe I had found true love. Not that true love is a bitter, rotten dead monkey in a box. But then again, maybe.

Egocentricity is a problem, however, when it becomes exaggerated and is not balanced by such social traits as love, empathy, and altruism, the capacity for which is probably also represented in our genome. Interestingly, very few of us think to look for egocentricity in ourselves, although we are dazzled by it in others.

I thought about dying. It seemed like the rational thing to kill myself. I thought of my parents. I knew I couldn't do it as long as they were alive. I thought of Rani needing me. I couldn't do it if someone needed me or loved me. Love was the only thing in my life. Everything else had already proven itself hollow and meaningless.

Should I draw you the picture of my heart it would be what I hope you would still love though it contained nothing new. The early possession you obtained there, and the absolute power you have obtained over it, leaves not the smallest space unoccupied.

Love Love can accommodate all sorts of misshapen objects: a door held open for a city dog who runs into the woods; fences down; some role you didn't ask for, didn't want. Love allows for betrayal and loss and dread. Love is roomy. Love can change its shape, be known by different names. Love is elastic. And the dog comes back.

Forget career, forget the future, forget existential worries, just get yourselves a couple of dogs, and everything will be all right.

Yesterday in his hospital room my husband asked urgently, Will you move me twenty-six thousand miles to the left?Yes, I said, not moving from my chair. After a moment he said, Thank you, adding in wonder, I didn't feel a thing.

Maybe there are clusters of souls born again and again into the same repertory company, and with each new birth they play different parts in a different play. Or maybe it's the same play. This would account for those moments of Oh! there you are! After all, there are those people we like and dislike, there are those people we love, and then there are those we recognize. These are the unbreakable connections.

After all, there are those people we like and dislike, there are those people we love, and then there are those we recognize. These are the unbreakable connections.

But Outsider Art is its own context. I don't have to know all about the Impressionists or the Abstract Expressionists. I don't have to be able to fit this art into any historic chronology. I don't feel like an ignoramus. Irony of ironies, I don't feel like an outsider—to fall in love I only need eyes.