Quotes About Love

Darling Jed. One day wee are all going to die. That should make us love each other more, not less. Use the time we are given." "That sounds very wise. But doesn't it just mean life hurts you more?" "It means you pay for love," said Nancy. "But it is always worth it.

There is nothing wrong in giving those you love more choices," she added. "It is only wrong if you try to blackmail or coax them into making the choice you prefer.

an' a daughter again,

Most wives think of their husbands as bumbling braggarts with whom they happen to be in love.

You know every story, every wound, every memory. Their whole life's happiness is wrapped up in you... every single second. Don't you get it? Look down the road to her wedding. I'm in a room alone with her, fixing her veil, fluffing her dress, telling her no woman has ever looked so beautiful. And my fear is she'll be thinking, "I wish my mom was here.

When the love of your life dies, the problem is not that some part of you dies too, which it does, but that some part of you is still alive.

Loss isn't an absence after all. It is a presence.

Some men fall in love with a woman, Some women fall in love with a man, Some men fall in love with another man, Some women fall in love with another woman - But I, my dear one, fell in love with Shetland. - Shetland

I know I am capable of loving to the full capacity, of not being frightened of loving too much, of giving myself up and over

They never tell you about that either. How the hardest thing a mother has to do is give her child up, let them go, watch them run.

She was in love. There was no turning back.

We're not alive to be alone on the planet. We're alive to share, to eat together and love together and laugh together and cry together. If you can never love because you will always lose, what reason is there to live?

The first time you marry for love, the second for money, and the third for companionship.

I still love you," Aaron says softly, "I wish I can just turn it off, or that it would have faded away. I wish I could say I'm not the same man I was when you left me, that I've changed. But I am who I am, Caitlin. And all the magic in the world wouldn't change that.

And don't look for guarantees. There are none, not in any human relationship. We all have so many flaws that it's a wonder men and women ever get together. Or stay together. But they do, Tuck, they do.

In summer heat he longed for her. When leaves turned, green to gold, he watched for her. As winter came, on feathered backs of redwing, fieldfare, and threaded through the call of curlew, he waited for her.

He gave her gifts: a crown of ice, woven with berries, feathers, and the light of love in his wild fox eyes.

And it seemed to him that she has always been a part of the landscape of his dreams, though for many years he could not understand her shape, until the day they met. So he told her the stories of colours and spoke with the gentle wings of moths, and walked through the world with her by his side. He loved this red colour of rosehips, like blood, but sweeter. She loved the light of wild in his eyes, the scent of frost in his fur and the movement of wings.

She whispered into the ear of the dreaming bear. If I said that my love for you was like the spaces between the notes of a wren's song, would you understand? Would you perceive my love to be, therefore, hardly present, almost nothing?

Or would you feel how my love is wrapped around by the richest, the wildest song? And, if I said my love for you is like the time when the nightingale is absent from our twilight world, would you hear it as silence? Nothing? No love? Or as anticipation of that rich current of music, which fills heart, soul, body, mind.

And, if I said my love for you is like the hare's breath, would you feel it to be transient? So slight a thing? Or would you see it as life-giving? Wild? A thing that fills the blood, and sets the hare running?

Did she know, this woman who found rest on the peace of wild things, how the swan, who offered her body as soft pillow, had once been a maiden, caught in a rainstorm, crouched by the water in shelter of bushes, mistaken by her lover out hunting in twilight, who, seeing only her white petticoat thought her a swan and shot? Did she understand how, rather than falling, her wild soul had risen into evening light and flight in the form of a wild swan?

she had placed her husband's cell phone, fully charged, inside the casket . . . and that she had called and left him messages for months after.

The world is made of more than particles. It's made of things you can't hold in your hand, like fear, love, loss, hope, truth.