Quotes About Love

If you love someone, you owe it to them to listen to what they have to say just as they owe it to you to do the same.

Meanness of spirit has no place in disagreements. It all boils down to how you love others.

Love is cruel, but it beats hate by a long shot, kiddos.

A mother becomes a true grandmother the day she stops noticing the terrible things her children do because she is so enchanted with the wonderful things her grandchildren do.

If I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren, I'd have had them first.

Tant bien que mal, avant j'aimais la vie, parce qu'on l'avait en commun. Avant, j'aimais la vie, même sachant tout ce que je savais, car dans l'immensité du vide, il était là qui souriait. Aujourd'hui, je chéris un fantôme, un souvenir. Je pense encore à lui chaque jour, chaque minute, chaque seconde…

The great task demanded of man is reproduction. He is urged by passion to perform this task. Passion, working through the imagination, produces love. Passion is the impelling factor, imagination the disturbing factor; and the disturbance of passion by imagination produces love.

In what other land save this one is the commonest form of greeting not "Good day," nor "How d'ye do," but "Love"? That greeting is Aloha--love, I love you, my love to you. Good day--what is it more than an impersonal remark about the weather? How do you do--it is personal in a merely casual interrogative sort of a way. But Aloha! It is a positive affirmation of the warmth of one's own heart-giving. My love to you! I love you! Aloha!

The marriage tie becomes possessed of a history and takes to itself traditions. This history and these traditions form a great fund, to which changing conditions and growing imagination constantly add. And the traditions, more especially, bear heavily upon the individual, overmastering his natural expression of the love instinct and forcing him to an artificial expression of that love instinct. He loves, not as his savage forbears loved, but as his group loves.

Love is the sum of all the arts, as it is the reason for their existence.

Stupid women, and all are stupid, think the first winning of the man the final victory. Then they settle down and grow fat, and stale, and dead, and heartbroken. Alas, they are so stupid. But you, little infant-woman with your first victory, you must make your love-life an unending chain of victories. Each day you must win your man again. And when you have won the last victory, when you can find no more to win, then ends love. Finis is written, and your man wanders in strange gardens.

I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. "Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!"

Love cannot in its very nature be peaceful or content. It is a restlessness, an unsatisfaction. I can grant a lasting love just as I can grant a lasting unsatisfaction; but the lasting love cannot be coupled with possession, for love is pain and desire and possession is easement and fulfilment.

Total surrender to the demands of the human spirit: be attentive, be intelligent, be reasonable, be responsible, be in love.

The fulfilment that is being in love with God is not the product of our knowledge and choice. It is God's gift. Like all being in love, as distinct from particular acts of loving, it is a first principle. So far from resulting from our knowledge and choice, it dismantles and abolishes the horizon within which our knowing and choosing went on, and it sets up a new horizon within which the love of God transvalues our values and the eyes of that love transform our knowing.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love.

I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart.

Love makes its record in deeper colors as we grow out of childhood into manhood; as the Emperors signed their names in green ink when under age, but when of age, in purple.

Love is the root of creation; God's essence; worlds without number Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. Only to love and to be loved again.

The men that women marry, And why they marry them, will always be A marvel and a mystery to the world.

Youth, hope, and love: To build a new life on a ruined life, To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream.

Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, And safe from all adversity Upon the bosom of that sea Thy comings and thy goings be! For gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives.

More hearts are breaking in this world of ours Than one would say. In distant villages And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, And grow in silence, and in silence perish.

If a woman shows too often the Medusa's head, she must not be astonished if her lover is turned into stone.