Quotes About Love

We cannot be deaf to the question: 'Do I love this world so well that I have to know how it ends?

Nothing can be loved too much, but all things can be loved in the wrong way.

When I try to imagine a faultless love Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.

This Lunar Beauty This lunar beauty Has no history, Is complete and early; If beauty later Bear any feature It had a lover And is another. This like a dream Keeps other time, And daytime is The loss of this; For time is inches And the heart's changes Where ghost has haunted Lost and wanted. But this was never A ghost's endeavour Nor, finished this, Was ghost at ease; And till it pass Love shall not near The sweetness here Nor sorrow take His endless look.

I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street, I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky.

Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

If people marry on the assumption that love must always overcome obstacles, they will either become unfaithful or they will make things difficult. The better you know someone, the better you can torture him: man and wife become each other's devils.

but when I try to imagine a faultless love, Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape.

For love: a poet. For romance: a journalist.

Every eye must weep alone Till I Will be overthrown But I Will can be removed, Not having sese enough to gaurd against I Know, But I Will can be removed. Then all I's can meet and grow, I am become I Love, I Have Not I Am Loved Then all I's can meet and grow,. Till I Will be overthrown Every eye must weep alone.

will it come like a change in the weather? Will its greeting be courteous or rough? Will it alter my like altogether? O tell me the truth about love

Only as I am, can I love you as you are

How much must be forgotten out of love, How much must be forgiven, even love.

Still his loud iniquity is still what only the Greatest of saints become-someone who dqes not lie : He because he cannot Stop the vivid present to think, they by having got Past reflection into A passionate obedience in time. We have our BoyMeets-Girl era of mirrors and muddle to work through, Without rest, without j oy. Therefore we love him because his judgements are so Frankly subjective that his abuse carries no Personal sting.

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." — W. H. Auden

Our whisper woke no clocks, We kissed and I was glad At everything you did, Indifferent to those Who sat with hostile eyes In pairs on every bed, Arms round each other's neck, Inert and vaguely sad.

Reason requires that I approve The light-bulb which I cannot love

Though language may be useless, for No words men write can stop the war Or measure up to the relief Of its immeasurable grief, Yet truth, like love and sleep, resents Approaches that are too intense, And often when the searcher stood Before the Oracle, it would Ignore his grown-up earnestness But not the child of his distress

You shall love your crooked neighbour with your crooked heart.

As mile by mile is seen No trespasser's reproach, And love's best glasses reach No fields but are his own.

It is through you that God has chosen to show me my beatitude.

I must bless, I must praise That you, my swan, who have All gifts that to the swan Impulsive Nature gave, The majesty and pride, Last night should add Your voluntary love.

Our hunting fathers told the story Of the sadness of the creatures, Pitied the limits and the lack Set in their finished features; Saw in the lion's intolerant look, Behind the quarry's dying glare, Love raging for, the personal glory That reason's gift would add, The liberal appetite and power, The rightness of a god. ...