Quotes About Love

He maybe be a jerk...but he is my jerk...he is my father. - Amber Brown

I know I'm not a perfect dad, Amber. But I'm trying." You don't have to be perfect, I say."Just be my dad.

Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

He didn't know a thing about her, not even after ten years, but she loved the air of knowingness; the flattery that didn't obligate her. And she liked his somewhat battered face, the close-fitting English suits he bought from a London salesman who stopped at a mid-town hotel each year to take orders, the Italian shoes he said were part of his seducer's costume. He wasn't a seducer. He was remote. He was like a man preceded into a room by acrobats.

When your children were small you worried that they would die and you would lose them, and then they grew up and you ended up losing the children they'd been, anyway.

Then the king will say to those on his right, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me." (Mt 25:34–36)

It gave me a sharp kind of sadness to think that no matter how much I loved him and tried to put him back together again, he might stay broken forever.

You are everything good and straight and fine and true—and I see that so clearly now, in the way you've carried yourself and listened to your own heart. You've changed me more than you know, and will always be a part of everything I am. That's one thing I've learned from this. No one you love is ever truly lost.

But in the end, fighting for a love that was already gone felt like trying to live in the ruins of a lost city.

But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things.

I hope we'll get lucky enough to grow old together.

Knowing he was suffering pained me. That's the way love tangles you up. I couldn't stop loving him, and couldn't shut off the feelings of wanting to care for him— but I also didn't have to run to answer his letters. I was hurting, too, and no one was running to me.

I knew that I could hate him all I wanted for the way he was hurting me, but I couldn't ever stop loving him, absolutely, for what he was.

How unbelievably naive we both were that night. We clung hard to each other, making vows we couldn't keep and should never have spoken aloud. That's how love is sometimes. I already loved him more than I'd ever loved anything or anyone. I knew he needed me absolutely, and I wanted him to go on needing me forever.

This was my one brush with love. Was it love? It felt awful enough. I spent another two years crawling around in the skin of it, smoking too much and growing too thin and having stray thoughts of jumping from my balcony like a tortured heroine in a Russian novel.

We knew what we had and what it meant, and though so much had happened since for both of us, there was nothing like those years in Paris, after the war. Life was painfully pure and simple and good, and I believed Ernest was his best self then. I got the very best of him. We got the best of each other.

On December 8, 1921, when the Leopoldina set sail for Europe, we were on board. Our life together had finally begun. We held on to each other and looked out at the sea. It was impossibly large and full of beauty and danger in equal parts-and we wanted it all.

You have to digest life. You have to chew it up and love it all through.

I'd like it if you could love me for a little while at least.

Even when other things come in loud, we have to keep choosing each other. That's marriage. You can't only say the words once and think they'll stick. You have to say them over and over, and then live them with all you've got.

I would gladly have climbed out of my skin and into his that night, because I believed that was what love meant.

I hope we'll get lucky enough to grow old together. You can see them on the street, those couples who've been married so long you can't tell them apart.

He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, the tip flaring an angry red. "Isn't love a beautiful goddamn liar?

You make your life with someone and you love that person and you think it's enough. But it's never enough, is it? I couldn't say. I don't know anything about love anymore.