Quotes About Love

Try not to kill me with your love, try not to break a glass wall seeing everything, but going unheard, the words feel unspoken. Crystals gleaming at our feet, innocently joined by red fists and a kiss.

Why do women love bad men? Margaret had asked the question herself, and answered it, in Woman in the Nineteenth Century. The belief that men have "stronger passions," Margaret theorized, has been "inculcated" in women for centuries, and "the preference often shown by women for bad men arises . . . from a confused idea that they are bold and adventurous, acquainted with regions which women are forbidden to explore.

Marriage should be a temporary relation," he wrote in his journal during the summer of his chaste tryst with Cary. "When each of two souls ha[ve] exhausted the other of that good which each held for the other, they should part in the same peace in which they met, not parting from each other, but drawn to new society. The new love is the balm to prevent a wound from forming where the old love was detached.

It was Waldo Emerson who would stay, bound to his "imperfect" marriage "because he dont believe in any thing better," and unable to forget Margaret, who, he would realize with increasing gratitude in later years, with her "radiant genius & fiery heart was perhaps the real centre that drew so many & so various individuals to a seeming union.

once a woman is "able to stand alone"—as certainly the Tribune's star, healed by Dr. Leger, could boast—"then she will not make an imperfect man her god . . . Then, if she finds what she needs in Man embodied, she will know how to love, and be worthy of being loved.

am caught in such a net of ties here." Again she almost revealed her secret: "if ever you know of my life here, I think you will only wonder at the constancy with which I have sustained myself." But she would not. "Meanwhile, love me all you can; let me feel, that, amid the fearful agitations of the world, there are pure hands, with healthful, even pulse, stretched out toward me, if I claim their grasp.

Waldo Emerson may have been a prize catch—"mine own angel-man," Lidian called him in an early letter to her sister. Yet becoming the wife of the free-lance philosopher also required "the giving up of an existence she thoroughly enjoyed," as one of the Emerson children later wrote, describing their mother's transformation from self-sufficient intellectual to genius domi.

It's so much easier to convince yourself you're madly in love with someone when you know nothing about him.

I love you, too." But this hopeful farewell does little to bring peace of mind, even now. Loving you has never been the problem. What's troubling me is how loving you may never be enough.

I almost can't believe I'm going to make myself vulnerable to him again. But what is love but the most extreme and exquisite form of risk perception? I know that relationships don't last. And yet, with him, the risk of not being with him is much worse than any other hurt I can imagine.

I'm not in love. It's a crush which is why it hurts. Crushes crush. Otherwise they'd be called awesomes. "I have an awesome on him.

I love you. And I want you, too. But. However. Unfortunately ...

And now, as I'm lying alone in my own bed, I keep thinking about writhing against him last night, naked and vulnerable. Even after we'd both risen and fallen, peaked and plummeted, even after Marcus was physically shrinking from inside me, I couldn't stop clutching, crying, trying. Trying to pull him deeper, deeper, deeper within. Trying to make him more a part of me than I am myself.

Love," he said, "has the longest arms.

Why do you even put up with me?' 'I'm not putting up with you,' he said, softly. 'I'm loving you.

She mailed me a Merry Christmas-I'm-Breaking-Up-with-You card. I'll read it to you," he said. He cleared his throat. "Dear Marcus. Merry Christmas. I'm breaking up with you. Mia.

he makes me feel out of control and out of my head. He is exhilarating and terrifying. I see and feel him everywhere, and I'm always grasping for equilibrium even when he's not there... I feel like I'm always falling in love, falling and falling and falling.

You can only really really hurt the ones that you really really love.

Love may have the longest arms, but it can still fall short of an embrace.

That's what all love comes down to, doesn't it? We help others only as much as they let us.

He always loved her because of, not in sprite of, her flaws.

You have stopped the arrow of time... There's no meaning to this rhyme... Because my song will never mean as much as the one.. He once sang.. For you, yes, you...

Women will always choose the man over the best friend. This is a sad but true fact of life, and it's only this certitude that makes me unashamed to admit it.

You called me a natural con artist and asked me what other secrets I was hiding. I didn't answer because I already knew, in some deep, primal way, what furtive truth you were referring to: That I was destined to fall in love with you.