Quotes About Love

Thrice happy's the wooing That's not long a-doing! So much time is saved in the billing and cooing -- The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves, And all the et cetera which crown people's loves.

But while you're abroad lead respectable lives; Love your neighbors, and welcome--but don't love their wives!

Let me silent be, For silence is the speech of love, The music of the spheres above.

Love's language is hyperbole, but whispered, sibilant similes and promises sotto voce. It's easy to imagine you've misheard

It is a harsh world, indescribably cruel. It is a gentle world, unbelievably beautiful. It is a world that can make us bitter, hateful, rabid, destroyers of joy. It is a world that can draw forth tenderness from us, as we lean towards one another over broken gates. It is a world of monsters and saints, a mutilated world, but it is the only one we have been given. We should let it shock us not into hatred or anxiety, but into unconditional love.

Seeing himself in others, one who is in a state of higher consciousness feels compassion for all beings, and holds only positive thoughts about them.

Never become used to anything you love. It blunts the edge of appreciation.

To all of us the thought of heaven is dear - Why not be sure of it and make it here? No doubt there is a heaven yonder too, But 'tis so far away - and you are near. Men talk of heaven, - there is no heaven but here; Men talk of hell, - there is no hell but here; Men of hereafters talk, and future lives, O love, there is no other life - but here.

She's somewhere in the sunlight strong, / Her tears are in the falling rain, / She calls me in the wind's soft song, / And with the flowers she comes again.

So I be written in the Book of Love, I have no care about that book above; Erase my name, or write it, as you please - So I be written in the Book of Love.

If in this shadowland of life thou hast Found one true heart to love thee, hold it fast; Love it again, give all to keep it thine, For love like nothing in the world can last.

What long-dead face makes here the grass so green? On what earth-buried bosom do we lean? Ah! love, when we in turn are grass and flowers, By what kind eyes to come shall we be seen?

Would you seek beauty, seek it underground; Would you find strength - the strong are underground; And would you next year seek my love and me, Who knows but you must seek us - underground?

Well, my mother said, and she was not exactly smiling, but as though she was wrapping a smile inside a thought.

O, the love of woman is a glorious thing, and strange in its ways of work.

This watch my father gave me when I entered the Ministry. I would like to give you more. Take it, Huw. It has marked time that I loved." Warm from his pocket in my hand, the smoothness of gold and glass. "No need for us to shake hands," he said, and his voice riding winds and seas, and his back black in front of me. "We will live in the minds of each other, Huw, my little one. Good-bye, with love.

Bronwen came over plenty of Saturdays after that, but I was always shy of her. I think I must have fallen in love with Bronwen even then and I must have been in love with her all my life since. It is silly to think a child could fall in love. If you think about it like that, mind. But I am the child that was, and nobody knows how I feel, except only me. And I think I fell in love with Bronwen that Saturday on the Hill. Still, that is past.

Well," my father said to her, and looked at her. "Well," my mother said to him, and looked at him. In that quietness they were speaking their own language, with their eyes, with the way they stood, with what they put into the air about them, each knowing what the other was saying, and having strength one from the other, for they had been learning through forty years of being together, and their minds were one.

So all I could have of Cienwen was in my mind, and I kept her there as men keep libraries of rare books, seldom to be touched but happy to know you have got.

Wyn we called her from the start, see. Nothing else to be done with a girl like that. Brown eyes she had, big, with eyelashes that touched her brows, and a smile in her voice, and looking to Davy as to a brother of God.

We have such a brief opportunity to pass on to our children our love for this Earth, and to tell our stories. These are the moments when the world is made whole. In my children's memories, the adventures we've had together in nature will always exist.

If you can't live in the land you love, love the land you're in.

He thought about that visionary lady. To die, he thought, never knowing the fierce joy and attendant comfort of a loved one's embrace. To sink into that hideous coma, to sink then into death and, perhaps, return to sterile, awful wanderings. All without knowing what it was to love and be loved. That was a tragedy more terrible than becoming a vampire.

How shall I typify what happened? Passion play? Somewhat. Weird tale? Indubitably. Horror story? Pretty close. Grotesque melodrama? Certainly. Black comedy? Your point of view will determine that. Perhaps it was a combination of them all... So, to the story. A chronicle of greed and cruelty, horror and rapacity, sadism and murder. Love, American style.