Quotes About Love

Why shouldn't the death of a person you love bring you into lurid ruin? You don't know how to love the one you love until they disappear abruptly. Then you understand how thinly distanced from their suffering, how sparing of self you often were, only rarely unguarded of heart, working your networks of give-and-take.

There's the life and there's the consumer event. Everything around us tends to channel our lives toward some final reality in print or on film. Two lovers quarrel in the back of a taxi and a question becomes implicit in the event. Who will write the book and who will play the lovers in the movie? Everything seeks its own heightened version.

Love helps us develop an identity secure enough to allow itself to be placed in another's care and protection.

I would spend the rest of my life turning to speak to her.

Decorative gestures add romance to a life.

Days like this. I look at you and feel electric. Tell me you don't feel it too.

This is what love comes down to, things that happen and what we say about them.

The love of minds should last beyond lives.

The instant he knew he loved her, she slipped down his body and out of his arms. Then she wedged herself through the narrow opening in the boards and he watched her cross the street. Nothing moved out there. She was the lone stroke of motion, crew and extras gone, equipment gone, and she was cool and silvery slim and walking head-high, with technical precision, toward the last trailer in the service station, where she would find her clothes, dress quickly and disappear.

What do we have to live for, but each other. What do we have to die for, but our love?

common words of spark and heart.

Where do you live? In the hearts of men, Sullivan said.

Maybe that was the answer I needed, the one route back. So simple. To decide to love the age.

Marriage is something we make from available materials. In this sense it's improvised, it's almost offhand. Maybe this is why we know so little about it. It's too inspired and quicksilver a thing to be clearly understood. Two people make a blur.

He was waiting for a man with a knife to come out of a doorway at him. All this time, he told me, he had been trying to steal death from her body. By confronting it himself, he would keep it away from her.

There is a thing about the trust of a dog that makes up for a lot of heartache we take in this life.

the basement. "What do you want to do?" she said. "Whatever you want to do." "I want to do whatever's best for you." "What's best for me is to please you," I said. "I want to make you happy, Jack." "I'm happy when I'm pleasing you." "I just want to do what you want to do.

Love helps us develop an identity secure enough to allow itself to be placed in another's care and protection.

The look was one of solemn compassion. It was a look I did not necessarily trust, believing it had little to do with pity or love or sadness. I recognized it in fact as something else completely. The adolescent female's tenderest form of condescension.

What were we like then in that time and space, unburdened of the weight of outer sound? We were angels harboring each other in the notion of desirelessness, dazed in our acquiescence to the drift through subatomic matter. The love of minds should last beyond lives. Maybe it does, each mind a dice-toss of neutron stars, invisible except to theory, pulling at cold space to find its lover.

This question comes up from time to time, like where are the car keys. It ends a sentence, prolongs a glance between us. I wonder if the thought itself is part of the nature of physical love, a reverse Darwinism that awards sadness and fear to the survivor. Or is it some inert element in the air we breathe, a rare thing like neon, with a melting point, an atomic weight?

my arms on the cinder track. Kids came running our way, thirty girls in bright shorts, an improbable bobbing mass. The eager breathing, the overlapping rhythms of their footfalls. Sometimes I think our love is inexperienced. The question of dying becomes a wise reminder. It cures us of our innocence of the future. Simple things are doomed, or is that a superstition? We watched

Sometimes I think our love is inexperienced. The question of dying becomes a wise reminder. It cures us of our innocence of the future.

From beyond the grave, dead living legend John Wayne will communicate telepathically with President Reagan to help frame U.S. foreign policy. Mellowed by death, the strapping actor will advocate a hopeful policy or peace and love.