Quotes About Love

Sounds like being a therapist. People normally came into my office because something happened. Someone had died, or betrayed them. Their love wasn't reciprocated. They'd lost a job. Gotten divorced. Something big. But the truth was, while that might've been the catalyst, the problem was almost always tiny and old and hidden.

And what else did you find?' 'God' he said simple. 'In a diner.' 'What was he eating?' The question was so unexpected Gamache hesitated then laughed. 'Lemon meringue pie.' 'And how do you know He was God?' ... 'I don't,' he admitted. 'He might have been just a fisherman. He was certainly dressed like one. But he looked across the room at me with such tenderness, such love, I was staggered...then he turned back to me with the most radiant smile I'd ever seen. I was filled with joy.

There's more, but I won't go on. It's a poem by Rupert Brooke. He was a soldier in the First World War. It helped him in the hellhole of the trenches to think of the things he loved. It helped me too. I made mental lists and followed the things I love, the people I love, back to sanity. I still do.

Henri kept everything important in his heart. He mostly kept cookies in his head.

I asked him to leave because he stopped caring for me, stopped supporting me. Not because I'd stopped caring for him.

But he realized Henri already knew all he'd ever need. He knew he was loved and he knew how to love.

when people died, they didn't go away. They were very much alive in the minds, in the hearts, in the vivid memories of those left behind. And they were not always easy to live with. Some ghosts had demands.

the most devastating thing Finney could have said. Not that Peter was hated by his father. But that he'd been loved all along. He'd interpreted kindness as cruelty, generosity as meanness, support as tethers. How horrible to have been offered love, and to have chosen hate instead. He'd turned heaven into hell.

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth for the other. Now there is no more loneliness.

Long dead and buried in another town My mother isn't finished with me yet.

Irene Finney filled the void with a child not loved then lost, but first lost, then loved.

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth for the other.

Kindness beats cruelty.

And as he felt the final beat of Sonny's heart Gamache had had the impression it wasn't that his old heart had stopped but that Sonny had finally given it all away.

All my works have vessels of some sort. Containers. Sometimes it's in the negative space, sometimes it's more obvious ... He's very loyal. He puts everything he has into one thing. one interest, one hobby, one friend, one love. I'm his love and it scares the shit out of me ... He's poured all his love into me. I'm his vessel. But suppose I crack? Suppose I break? Suppose I die? What would he do?

if love followed them through lifetimes, did hate also follow?

Their lives could not be defined by their deaths. They belonged not in perpetual pain but in the beauty of their short lives.

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

She'd forgotten to love, but she also forgot to hate. (about Clara's mother, who had dementia)

This used to be my drug of choice. In my teens my drug of choice was acceptance, in my twenties it was approval, in my thirties it was love, in my forties it was Scotch.

A will, an estate, could become about more than money, property, possessions. Who was left the most could be interpreted as who was loved the most. There were different sorts of greed. Of need.

All Armand's life Honoré had lived in light. Unchallenged….Armand put out his hand, and touched the door. The last room, the last door [in the longhouse]. The last territory to explore didn't hold monstrous hate or bitterness or rancid resentments. It held love. Blinding, beautiful love.

They were home. He always felt a bit like a snail, but instead of carrying his home on his back, he carried it in his arms.

He had his treasure, but finally all he wanted was his family. And peace.