Quotes About Love

You can't marry an ungenerous man; there's no joy in his soul.

Wasn't it hard that you did so much for children and loved them so deeply and they seemed so indifferent to you in return?

Listen to me, Ria. It will be different when you and I have a home. It will be a real home, one that people will want to come running back to.

And he said nothing. Just put his arms around her more closely as the whole heart clinic and their friends and relations danced to the music of "Hey Jude".

Tony and Kimberley and had wanted to protect her,

Life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight. ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND

Mothers are the people who love us for no good reason. And those of us who are mothers know it's the most exquisite love of all.

Romantic lovers require from each other at least the facade of reason: We desire to be what romantic love makes us appear in the other's eyes. We want to imagine we are deserving of the love we inspire.

He could still be her knight. But that was it. She would not love someone who had no faith in her.

Sighing, Brand did an act he thought never to do. He took a faerie, a goblin, and a sister and hugged them to his heart.

What I know: when I met you, a blue rush began. I want you to know, I no longer hold you responsible.

Do not, however, make the mistake of thinking that all desire is yearning. "We love to contemplate blue, not because it advances to us, but because it draws us after it," wrote Goethe, and perhaps he is right. But I am not interested in longing to live in a world in which I already live. I don't want to yearn for blue things, and God forbid for any "blueness." Above all, I want to stop missing you.

58. "Love is something so ugly that the human race would die out if lovers could see what they were doing" (Leonardo da Vinci).

If I were today on my deathbed, I would name my love of the color blue and making love with you as two of the sweetest sensations I knew on this earth.

to wish to forget how much you loved someone—and then, to actually forget—can feel, at times, like the slaughter of a beautiful bird who chose, by nothing short of grace, to make a habitat of your heart.

Is to be in love with blue, then, to be in love with a disturbance? Or is the love itself the disturbance? And what kind of madness is it anyway, to be in love with something constitutionally incapable of loving you back?

It is easier, of course, to find dignity in one's solitude. Loneliness is solitude with a problem. Can blue solve the problem, or can it at least keep me company within it?—No, not exactly. It cannot love me that way; it has no arms. But sometimes I do feel its presence to be a sort of wink—Here you are again, it says, and so am I.

The mother of an adult child sees her work completed and undone at the same time.' If this holds true, I may have to withstand not only rage, but also my undoing. Can one prepare for one's undoing? How has my mother withstood mine? Why do I continue to undo her, when what I want to express above all else is that I lover her very much?

We don't get to choose what or whom we love, I want to say. We just don't get to choose.

Love is not consolation," she wrote. "It is light." All right then, let me try to rephrase. When I was alive, I aimed to be a student not of longing but of light.

95. But please don't write again to tell me how you have woken up weeping. I already know how you are in love with your weeping.

How people are often merciless on those they love the most

I know we're still here, who knows for how long, ablaze with our care, its ongoing song.

But if I were honest, or if I were at least to bump into the limits of my honesty, I would have to admit that I knew exactly how this love would end from the moment it began. The loss was probably before it was possible.