Quotes About Love

No existe nadie cuya personalidad real nos guste hasta la última partícula. Por eso, un mundo donde todo consiste en gustar es en última instancia una mentira. Pero sí existe la persona de cuya personalidad real uno ama hasta la última partícula. Y por eso el amor representa tal amenaza existencial para el orden del tecnoconsumismo: Saca a la luz la mentira

Taking a cab to the city center, she was pierced unexpectedly by regret for not doing exactly that: not walking the streets as an independent adult woman, not cultivating an independent life, not being a sensible and curious tourist instead of a love-chasing madwoman.

who you are, but I'm not in love with you.

Their marriages had been Old Testament, hers a matter of honoring her covenant with Charles, Tom's a matter of fearing Anabel's wrath and judgement. In the New Testament, the only things that mattered were love and free will.

The idea was that God was to be found in relationships, not in liturgy and ritual, and that the way to worship Him and approach Him was to emulate Christ in his relationships with his disciples, by exercising honesty, confrontation, and unconditional love.

Her life would have been easier if she hadn't loved him so much, but she couldn't help loving him. Just to look at him was to love him.

What we get, instead, are characters keeping their heartless compulsions secret from those who love them; characters scheming to appear loving or to prove to themselves that what feels like love is really just disguised self-interest; or, at most, characters directing an abstract or spiritual love toward somebody profoundly repellent . . .

Njen život sa Tomom bio je neobi?an i nedefinisan, zauvek privremen, ali upravo zato, bila je to prava ljubav, jer je svaki dan, svaki sat bio stvar slobodnog izbora. To ju je podse?alo na razliku koju je nau?ila još kao dete na veronauci. Njihovi su brakovi bili starozavetni, ona je poštovala svoju obavezu prema ?arlsu, Tom se plašio Anabelinog gneva i osude. Po Novom zavetu, jedino što je bilo važno bili su ljubav i slobodna volja.

She'd never really known her father. Probably nobody had. With his shyness and his formality and his tyrannical rages he protected his interior so ferociously that if you loved him, as she did, you learned that you could do him no greater kindness than to respect his privacy.

Marion had long been inspired, intellectually, by Russ's conviction that a gospel of love and community was truer to Christ's teachings than a gospel of guilt and damnation. But lately she'd begun to wonder.

It was love that worked miracles; no force on earth was more powerful.

I'm just happy you're home safely.

The cabin was dark. Inside it was the sound of her childhood, the patter of rain on a roof that consisted only of shingle and bare boards, no insulation or ceiling. She associated the sound with her mother's love, which had been as reliable as the rain in its season. Waking up in the night and hearing the rain still pattering the same way it had when she'd fallen asleep, hearing it night after night, had felt so much like being loved that the rain might have been love itself.

She wore an expression of love so naked it seemed to Pip almost obscene.

Dad, Dad, Dad. What's wrong?" Alfred looked up at his son and into his eyes. He opened his mouth, but the only word he could produce was "I—" I— I have made mistakes— I am alone— I am wet— I want to die— I am sorry— I did my best— I love my children— I need your help— I want to die— "I can't be here," he said.

The love that was a granite impediment at the center of her life was also an unshakable foundation;

neurochemically, obsessive-compulsive disorder bears a conspicuous resemblance to falling in love. Scientists have scanned the brains of the pathologically obsessive and held them up next to brain scans of the love-struck, and the images turned colors in the same places. Doctors drew blood and found the same chemical imbalances—namely, a serotonin deficit.

Don't you love me, Mother?" Cornered by the question, she agreed to try to help him. Before she left the church, it seemed necessary to both of them that they embrace, and what an odd embrace it was, what a sick transaction. She, who wasn't capable of real love, pretended to love him while he, who really did love her, exploited her pretended love.

When have you ever done anything but intercede for me? Everything I am I owe to you. Mother.

Sick of envying, sick of herself. She didn't understand antiques or architecture, she couldn't draw like Sylvia, she didn't read like Ted, she had few interests and no expertise. A capacity for love was the only true thing she'd ever had.

Her life with Tom was strange and ill-defined and permanently temporary but therefore all the more a life of true life, because it was freely chosen every day, every hour. It reminded her of a distinction she'd learned as a child in Sunday school. Their marriages had been Old Testament, hers a matter of honouring her covenant with Charles, Tom's a matter of fearing Anabel's wrath and judgement. In the New Testament, the only things that mattered were love and free will.

She was a little bit in love with Tom, too, because she could afford to be, because she wasn't physically attracted to him - he was both older and 'safe'.

Russ Hildebrandt] 'I don't deserve joy!' [Marion Hildebrandt] 'No one does. It's a gift from God.

Whatever chemistry she and Jason had had was still there, if only in the form of regret about never really having acted on it.