Quotes About Love

Yes, there are lots of questions. And even more books. So, so many. Humans in their typical human way have written far too many to get through. Reading is added to that great pile of things – work, love, sexual prowess, the words they didn't say when they really needed to say them – that they are bound to feel a bit dissatisfied about.

The love of a person never disappears,' he said softly. 'Even if they might. We have memories, you see, Amelia. Love never dies. We love someone and they love us back and that love is stored and it protects us. It is bigger than life and it doesn't end with life. It stays inside us. They stay inside us. inside our hearts.

That's what starts to happen, when you know it is possible for you to feel pain you have no control over. You become vulnerable. Because the possibility of pain is where love stems from. And that, for me, was very bad news indeed. Sloping roofs (and other ways to deal with the rain) and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, – William Shakespeare, Hamlet   I couldn't sleep.

At the bottom of the pit, I always had to force myself to find the beauty, the goodness, the love, however hard it was. It was hard to do. But I had to try. Change doesn't just happen by focusing on the place you want to escape. It happens by focusing on where you want to reach. Boost the good guys, don't just knock the bad guys. Find the hope that is already here and help it grow.

When you die the last thing you want is for your death to leak out and infect those left behind, for those loved ones to become a kind of living dead. And yet, inevitably, that often happens. It has happened to me.

Bertrand Russell wrote that 'To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three-parts dead'. Maybe

For now, I do what I know keeps me just about level. Exercise definitely helps me, as does yoga and absorbing myself in something or someone I love, so I keep doing these things. I suppose, in the absence of universal certainties, we are our own best laboratory.

I loved someone once. A woman. I loved her madly. Do you understand? We were together, in secret, for nearly twenty years. And we were told we couldn't talk about that love… because it was dangerous. It was dangerous to love […] There comes a time when the only way to start living is to tell the truth. To be who you really are, even if it is dangerous.

It was then I realised the one thing worse than having a dog hate you is having a dog love you.

here's a toast to Alan Turing born in harsher, darker times who thought outside the container and loved outside the lines and so the code-breaker was broken and we're sorry yes now the s-word has been spoken the official conscience woken – very carefully scripted but at least it's not encrypted – and the story does suggest a part 2 to the Turing Test: 1. can machines behave like humans? 2. can we?

Some would look at Emily's life and think that a child born with Down's syndrome has little hope for a meaningful life. Throw in the diagnosis of leukemia and that little hope turns into no hope whatsoever. I disagree. Emily's life, with all its imperfections, had great meaning. Because of how many people she touched, I realize that we are far more than what we can accomplish. We are the very thumbprints of God.

I wish I were a rose...that you might wear me for a buttonhole bouquet on your journey. But I wonder...would you throw the rose away when it faded?

Who on Earth are we that the awesome King of all eternity would spare a thought in our direction? Why would the God of yesterday, today, and forever- the One who was, is, and is to come- choose to bestow His loving attention upon the likes of us? The God of unspeakable glory is speaking to us in unmistakable words of love and grace.

Sex is not about reproduc-tion, gender is not about males and females, courtship is not aboutpersuasion, fashion is not about beauty, and love is not about affec-tion. Below the surface of every banality and cliche there lies irony,cynicism, and profundity.

sex is merely a genetic joint venture. the process of choosing somebody to have sex with, which used to be known as falling in love, is mysterious, cerebral, and highly selective.

It was perfect. I mean . . . not that anything really happened." "Oh, George, it's not how much you do, it's what you feel while you're doing it. You know that. But do you know the real truth?" "No, What?" "The real truth is that whoever you love will be just like me, and not just in the fog. Understand?" "No." "You will

La explicación es que el Dios del Nuevo Testamento es una persona, un padre, a quien le importamos.

And yet she did understand: not only the lengths to which a mother might go to protect her child; but the impulsive acts to which a heart, disturbed by years of longing, might be prone.

Yet just as a classic heroic tale needs a Saint, an unabashedly White-Hatted and periodically naive champion of romantic love, so too it isn't quite complete without that other, more dubious, good guy: The Black Knight.

But stories are like people, Atticus. Loving them doesn't make them perfect. You try to cherish their virtues and overlook their flaws. The flaws are still there, though. " "But you don't get mad. Not like Pop does." "No, that's true, I don't get mad. Not at stories. They do disappoint me sometimes." He looked at the shelves. "Sometimes, they stab me in the heart.

But stories are like people, Atticus. Loving them doesn't make them perfect. You try to cherish their virtues and overlook their flaws. The flaws are still there, though. But you don't get mad.

George sat on his porch, and drank his Coke and made daydreams out of the rain. He wondered about the book he would write this year, and he wondered - not too desperately - whether love would find him at last and let him rest for a time. But he smiled all the while he was thinking about it, because at the core he was happy enough just to be alive and watching the storm, and this one thing made him special.

You made love to a dream. Have I ever lied to you, George? Then remember what I told you: Whoever you love will be just like me. Any woman seen through love's eyes is as perfect as you thought me to be." "No," George said. "There's no one like you." "They're all like me, George, if you see with your heart. But some of them stay.

Culture is properly described as the love of perfection; it is a study of perfection.