Quotes About Love

I admit, I was afraid to love. Not just love, but to love her. For she was a stunning mystery. She carried things deep inside her that no one has yet to understand, and I, I was afraid to fail, like the others. She was the ocean and i was just a boy who loved the waves but was completely terrified to swim.

I closed my eyes softly and fell in love with the way I remembered you: body, soul, and all.

She wiped the black spilling from her eyelashes onto her cheek, and in that moment, I wanted, I needed, for magic to exist. I wanted to peel back her lonely skin and feel her sadness stare straight into the blue inside my eyes. I wanted and I needed it to know, that I, I loved her too, and my god I, I would fight for her.

10th October 1877 I am in love! Her name is Drusilla MacAvoy. 15th October 1877 Too hasty by far! The MacAvoy woman was not for me. I am planning to kill myself, and if the remainder of these pages are blank anyone who comes across this diary will know I succeeded.

I'm not living the life I thought I would lead, but it does have meaning, purpose. There is love... there is joy... there is laughter.

To love with all your heart, the heart must first be opened.

qué es un amigo? Alguna vez he compartido una frase que me gusta: «Un amigo es la persona que conoce todos tus defectos y que, a pesar de eso, te sigue amando igual».

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffrey,For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily serving him.

For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.

How little he needs. Just love. More love. — Christopher Wiseman, from "Bedside Manners," Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems , eds. Phyllis Cole-Dai & Ruby R. Wilson (Grayson Books, 2017)

Perhaps, just perhaps, you're there. How little he needs. Just love. More love. — Christopher Wiseman, from "Bedside Manners," Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems , eds. Phyllis Cole-Dai & Ruby R. Wilson (Grayson Books, 2017)

To share out your soul freely, that is what metanoia (a change of mind, or repentance)really refers to: a mental product of love. A change of mind, or love for the undemonstrable. And you throw off every conceptual cloak of self-defense, you give up the fleshly resistance of your ego. Repentance has nothing to do with self-regarding sorrow for legal transgressions. It is an ecstatic erotic self-emptying. A change of mind about the mode of thinking and being.

The word 'God' defines a personal relation, not an objective concept. Like the name of the beloved in every love. It does not imply separation and distance. Hearing the beloved name is an immediate awareness, a dimensionless proximity of presence. It is our life wholly transformed into relation.

We know God by cultivating a relationship, not by understanding a concept. The relation constitutes the very subjectivity of of our existence. We participate in existence consciously and rationally, with subjective self-knowledge and identity, because the erotic drive of our nature is transformed into a personal relation when there arises in the space of the Other the first signifier of desire: the maternal presence. The subject is born with love's first leap of joy.

You touched my flawed life so gently with love burning upward in dark steady flame burning me, burning me into healing.

Tough love? That's bullshit. You love your kid and you keep on loving your kid. You take your kid back no matter what, and you keep on taking your kid back. Once, twice, a hundred times. The tough-love philosophy tells you to give your kid a million bucks and say, Don't come home until you're clean. Well, I did that. I gave my daughter a million bucks. She never got clean, and she never came home. She died.

Hi, Drew." "You know, these thirty-second dates are getting pretty serious. I was thinking we should probably cool it a little.

A lot of times black folks look for love in all the wrong places. You're always looking for somebody to love you, be accepted, and there's the insecurities that are even transmitted through rap. Everyone is trying to aim to please too much.

Esse mundo é muito filho da puta, não é? — disse Gus. Angel assentiu. — Mas é o único que nós temos. Gus sentiu um arroubo de amor por aquele seu compatriota fodido.

nine times out of ten, romance is a problem, not a solution.

Looking back on one's life, you see that love was the answer to everything.

Art and love are the same thing: It's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.

But whenever I meet dynamic, nonretarded Americans, I notice that they all seem to share a single unifying characteristic: the inability to experience the kind of mind-blowing, transcendent romantic relationship they perceive to be a normal part of living. And someone needs to take the fall for this. So instead of blaming no one for this (which is kind of cowardly) or blaming everyone (which is kind of meaningless), I'm going to blame John Cusack.

I once loved a girl who almost loved me, but not as much as she loved John Cusack.