Quotes About Love

l'amour avait fait de lui un déchet social, ce dont il se réjouissait.

I never know the loved being's voice except when it is dead, remembered, recalled inside my head, way past the ear; a tenuous yet monumental voice, since it is one of those objects which exist only once they have disappeared

The lover's fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits.

the amorous subject wonders, not whether he should declare his love to the loved being,..., but to what degree he should conceal the turbulences of his passion, his desires, his distresses: in short, his excesses.

Every contact, for the lover, raises the question of an answer: the skin is asked to reply.

To know that one does not write for the other, to know that these things that I am going to write will never cause me to be loved by the one I love (the other), to know that writing compensates for nothing, sublimates nothing, that it is precisely *where you are not*--that is the beginning of writing.

though the subject rejects the notion of repeating it elsewhere later on, he sometimes discovers in himself a kind of diffusion of amorous desire; he then realises he is doomed to wander until he dies, from love

Though each love is experienced as unique and though the subject rejects the notion of repeating it elsewhere later on, he sometimes discovers in himself a kind of diffusion of amorous desire; he then realises he is doomed to wander until he dies, from love

I always behave--I insist upon behaving, whatever I am told and whatever my own discouragements may be, as if love someday might be fulfilled, as if the Sovereign Good were possible

Magic consultations, secret rites, and votive actions are not absent from the amorous subject's life, whatever culture he belongs to.

The lover's discourse is in a sense a series of No Exits

I counter whatever doesn't work in love with the affirmation of what is worthwhile

I-love-you is active. It affirms itself as force--against other forces. Which ones? The thousand forces of the world, which are, all of them, disparaging forces (science, doxa, reality, reason, etc) Or again: against language.

I experience reality as a system of power. Coluche, the restaurant, the painter, Rome on a holiday, everything imposes on me its system of being; everyone is *badly behaved*. Isn't their impoliteness merely a *plenitude*? The world is full, plenitude is its system, and as a final offense this system is presented as a nature with which I must sustain good relations: in order to be normal (exempt from love)... —from_A Lover's Discourse: Fragments_

Nije li najbolnija to?ka tog žalovanja u tome što moram izgubiti jedan jezik - ljubavni jezik? Svršeno je s onim 'Volim te.')

Il m'importe peu de savoir si Dieu existe ou non ; mais ce que je sais et que je saurai jusqu'au bout, c'est qu'il n'aurait pas dû créer en même temps l'amour et la mort. Le Neutre, c'est ce Non irréductible : un Non comme suspendu devant les endurcissements de la foi et de la certitude et incorruptible par l'une et par l'autre.

Love's atopia, characteristic which causes it to escape all dissertations, would be that *ultimately* it is possible to talk about love only *according to a strict allocutive determination*; whether philosophical, gnomic, lyric, or novelistic, there is always, in the discourse upon love, a person whom one addresses, though this person may have shifted to the condition of a phantom or a creature still to come. No one wants to speak of love unless it is *for* someone.).

I myself cannot (as an enamored subject) construct my love story to the end: I am its poet (its bard) only for the beginning; the end, like my own death, belongs to others; it is up to them to write the fiction, the external, mythic narrative.

Amour au bandeau: Ce proverbe est faux. L'amour ouvre grand les yeux, il rend clairvoyant:J'ai, de toi, sur toi, le savoir absolu. Rapport du clerc au maître; tu a tout pouvoir sur moi, mais j'ai tout savoir sur toi.

4 de noviembre Esta noche, por primera vez, he soñado con ella; estaba acostada pero nada enferma, con su camisón rosa comprado en un supermercado...

The love story... is the tribute the lover must pay to the world in order to be reconciled with it.

The difficulty of the amorous project is in this: Just show me who to love then get out of my way! Countless episodes in which I fall in love with someone loved by my best friend: every rival has first been a master, a guide, a barker, a mediator.

No habría familias si no hubiera algunas exitosas!)

What I want is a little cosmos (with its own time its own logic) inhabited only by the two of us