Quotes About Love

Am I jealous? he thought, astonished. Jealous of the chance object to which she has attached herself? Jealous of something that does not concern me? One can be jealous of a love that has turned away, but not of that to which it has turned.

Mark this one thing my boy: never, never, never can a man make himself ridiculous in the eyes of a woman by anything he may do on her account. Not even by the most childish performances. Do anything you like, stand on your head, talk the most utter twaddle, swank like a peacock, sing under her window - anything at all but one thing: don't be matter of fact, don't be sensible.

When we love each other we are immortal and indestructible like the heartbeat and the rain and the wind.

She was very beautiful and he felt he loved her. She was not beautiful as a state or a picture is beautiful; she was beautiful as a meadow across which the wind blows. It was life that pulsed in her and that had formed her into what she was.

People should die, only when they're alone. Or when they hate—not when they love.

I stand there and wonder whether, when I am twenty, I shall have experienced the bewildering emotions of love.

I love him, his shoulders, his angular, stooping figure – and at the same time I see behind him woods and stars, and a clear voice utters words that bring me peace, to me, a soldier in big boots, belt, and a knapsack, taking the road that lies before him under the high heaven, quickly forgetting and seldom sorrowful, for ever pressing on under the wide night sky.

Ljubav nije jezero u kome se uvek može ogledati... ona ima plimu i oseku i olupine i potonule gradove i bure i kov?ege sa zlatom i bisere… ali biseri su duboko...

Nie entschuldigen, Baby. Nie reden. Blumen schicken. Ohne Brief. Nur Blumen. Die decken alles zu. Sogar Gräber.

Love is not a businessman who wants to see a return on his investments. And imagination needs only a few nails on which to hang its veil. Whether they are of gold, tin, or covered with rust makes no difference to it. Wherever it gets caught, it is caught. Thornbush or rosebush, as soon as the veil of moonlight and mother-of-pearl has fallen on it, either becomes a fairy tale out of A Thousand and One Nights

People tend to ask too many questions in love,and once you begin really wanting to know the answers,love is on its way out.

Sweet words. Gentle deceptive balm. Help, love, to belong together, to come back again— words, sweet words. Nothing but words. How many words existed for this simple, wild, cruel attraction of two bodies! What a rainbow of imagination, lies, sentiment, and self-deception enclosed it!

That is a generation's difference these days," Ferdinand continued. "A lifetime's difference. A thousand years' difference. What do you children understand of existence? You're afraid even of your own feelings. You don't write letters—you telephone; you don't dream—you go for week-end excursions; you are rational in love and irrational in politics—a pitiable race.

We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion, burst in our hearts.

What has that to do with love?" "A great deal. It takes care of its continuance. Otherwise we would love once only and reject everything else later. But as it is, the remnant of desire for the man one leaves behind, or by whom one is left behind, becomes the halo around the head of the new one. To have lost someone before in itself gives the new one a certain romantic glamour. The hallowed old illusion.

Love, he thought. That too is love. The old miracle. It not only casts a rainbow of dreams against the gray sky of facts—it also sheds romantic light upon a heap of dung—a miracle and a mad mockery. Suddenly he had the strange feeling of having become, in a remote way, an accomplice.

I hate it when people mix things, I hate the cowlike yearning toward one another while the beauty and the power of a great work breaks over one; I hate the swimming looks of lovers, the foolish blissful cuddling, the indecent sheepish happiness that can never rise above itself; I hate all the talk of becoming one through love;

Armastus teeb naise teravmeelseks, mehe aga võtab juhmiks.

We live in rooms too much, I say. We think too much in rooms. We make love too much in rooms. We despair too much in rooms. Can you despair in the open?

As far as I know, only the old Greeks had gods of drinking and the joy of life: Bacchus and Dionysus. Instead of that we have Freud, inferiority complexes and the psychoanalysis. We're afraid of the too great words in love and not afraid of much too great words in politics. A sorry generation!

Wir sind keine Jugend mehr. Wir wollen die Welt nicht mehr stürmen. Wir sind Flüchtende. Wir flüchten vor uns. Vor unserem Leben. Wir waren achtzehn Jahre und begannen die Welt und das Dasein zu lieben; wir mussten darauf schießen.

Albert expresses it: "The war has ruined us for everything." He is right. We are not youth any longer. We don't want to take the world by storm. We are fleeing. We fly from ourselves. From our life. We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion, burst in our hearts. We are cut off from activity, from striving, from progress. We believe in such things no longer, we believe in the war. The

Es esmu ?oti slikts biedrs, Robij. To es ceru, sac?ju. Es ar? negribu sievieti par biedru. Es gribu m???ko. T? es ar? neesmu, vi?a nomurmin?ja. Kas tad tu esi? Ne puse, ne kas vesels. Tikai fragments... T? ar? vislab?k, es teicu. Tas ierosina fant?ziju. T?das sievietes var m?žam m?l?t. Gatavas sievietes dr?z apn?k. V?rt?g?s ar?. Fragmenti nekad.

Be meil?s žmogus - tik atostogaujantis lavonas.