Quotes About Love

Will you be my wife forever? Here and now and beyond all of this?

I didn't know it until the end. All stories worth telling are love stories.

But this kind of love can't survive. Love's a luxury.

I've either been in love a dozen times or never. I can't tell.

You think you'll fall in love again one day?" He straightens Partridge's bow tie. "I sure as hell hope not.

When boys grow into men, their boyishness is still apparent each time they abandon themselves a little. I stretch against them sometimes--lovesickness, it is the same ache as homesickness for me--and I marvel. The length of their bodies, it's where I find my house, my old street, Ashbury Park and all of its yowling--men, they walk around carrying my country, my motherland, and they don't even know. They don't have the tiniest idea.

Perhaps we're all doomed to fail as mothers, but if so, it's better to err on the side of showing too much love, not too little.

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. but what if falling in love i a sign not of weakness but of courage? what if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

She] knows that it's fear that keeps her love in check. But what if falling in love is a sign not of weakness but of courage? What if it isnt falling or crashing but taking a leap?

I've come to realize that home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

home is a feeling as much as it is a place; it is as much about loving what I do as being where I am.

She felt the pain of his loss inside her like a savage hook. She wanted to reach into him and take it out, as though it were shrapnel. But the pain was old to him, and somehow it had become a part of him. He could bear it and speak of it. It had shaped him; he had accommodated it. He had loved and he had lost and it had made him who he was.

I know what you think of me, Miles. I know what you--have thought of me. But I have a heart. I do have a heart. I just cannot afford to use it. Don't you see? Why can't you see this? Whereas you--may play at all of this as much as you like. There will always be someone for you. And that is the difference. I cannot afford to use my heart. And you--you choose not to use yours.' - Cynthia Brightley to Miles Redmond

I took a fall," he confirmed evenly. After a hesitation doubtless only Phoebe noticed. And Phoebe didn't know whether it was the sort of fall Lucifer took, or the sort poets wrote about when love struck, or even if it was an innuendo at all, because she suspected everything was destined to sound like an innuendo from now on.

Before him and since he'd gone away, she'd either contracted or ever-so-subtly contorted her very being to accommodate nearly everybody else. She was only ever wholly herself with him.

Lyon Redmond was either a man on a pilgrimage in search of salvation, or a man out to burn on the pyre of his own love for a woman. Regardless, he still suffered.

What was love if not a certain pleasantly deluded familiarity built up over years?

When and if Violet ever fell in love, lightning would split the heavens, tectonic plates would shift, continents would reorder themselves. Because she might be willful and spoiled and impetuous, but no one loved with the force of his sister. Her love story would be epic.

Your happiness, quite simply, is my happiness. Cynthia slowly closed her eyes against the look in his. Cannot bear.

Why? He sounded bemused. He'd whispered the word. She supposed he meant: why are you here? Because her mind answered with: Because I love you, and damn you for it. You have both made my life worth living and utterly ruined it, and I'm grateful that you did. She smiled faintly. She would never say it.

Have you ever been in love?" "Colin. For the love of God." "I have," he said bluntly. "And when you lose love, it tears a hole out of you. The pain can be gruesome. I thought I lost Madeline once, and I swear for a few days I thought I might never be whole again." "Perhaps you should write a poem about it. Add another verse to your song.

A girl could forget her precise location in the universe when a man looked at her with eyes like those.

But is not one a result of the other?" she asked. "Love and loyalty? I cannot see how could you prefer one to the other.

Did that kiss nearly destroy the memory of all other kisses, and become the benchmark against which all future kisses would be measured?