- Doubt thou the stars are fire;
- Doubt that the sun doth move;
- Doubt truth to be a liar;
- But never doubt I love.
Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly.
Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to the growth of love, but they are, very often, its powerful auxiliaries.
Camaraderieusually occurring through similarity of pursuits, is unfortunately seldom superadded to love between the sexes, because men and women associate, not in their labours, but in their pleasures merely. Where, however, happy circumstance permits its development, the compounded feeling proves itself to be the only love which is strong as deaththat love which many waters cannot quench, nor the floods drown, beside which the passion usually called by the name is evanescent as steam.
- My heart, my heart, be whole and free:
- Love is thine only enemy.
Love lends wings to our desires.
A love grown old is not the love once new.
- Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,
- Could ever hear by tale or history,
- The course of true love never did run smooth.
What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.
Love, that is all the earth to lovers love, that mocks time and space,
Love, that is day and night love, that is sun and moon and stars,
Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume,
No other words but words of love, no other thought but love.
Men and women consume one another rapidly in what is called "the act of love," or else settle down to a mild habit of conjugality. We seldom find a mean between these two extremes.
Psychology lures even most serious people into romancing, and quite unconsciously.
- Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
- Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
My love is like a stone tied round my neck; it's dragging me down to the bottom; but I love my stone. I can't live without it.
All love is sweet,
Given or returned. Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
- Never give all the heart, for love
- Will hardly seem worth thinking of
- To passionate women if it seem
- Certain, and the never dream
- That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
- For everything that's lovely is
- but a brief, dreamy, kind of delight.
- O never give the heart outright,
- For they, for all smooth lips can say,
- Have given their hearts up to the play.
- And who could play it well enough
- If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
- He that made this knows all the cost,
- For he gave all his heart and lost.
- W. B. YEATS, Never Give All The Heart
- Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;
- And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.
One is easily fooled by that which one loves.
Can we only love
Something created in our own imaginations?
Are we all in fact unloving and unloveable?
Then one is alone, and if one is alone
Then lover and beloved are equally unreal
And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
- If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
- Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
- Love, unconquerable,
- Waster of rich men, keeper
- Of warm lights and all-night vigil
- In the soft face of a girl:
- Sea-wanderer, forest-visitor!
- Even the pure immortals cannot escape you,
- And mortal man, in his one day's dusk,
- Trembles before your glory.
Who are those we love? Only those whom we do not hate.
To thoroughly understand the world, to explain it, to despise it, may be the thing great thinkers do. But I'm only interested in being able to love the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and me, to be able to look upon it and me and all things with love and admiration and great respect.
- And therefore is Love said to be a child,
- Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.
They ought to find out how to vaccinate for love, like smallpox.
- Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books,
- But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
- Nothing that we love over-much
- Is ponderable to our touch.
- W. B. YEATS, Towards Break of Day
They are carnal both of them, love and death, and thus their terror and their great magic!
Love is only known by him who hopelessly persists in love.
Love ... is very materially assisted by a warm and active imagination: which has a long memory, and will thrive, for a considerable time, on very slight and sparing food.
There is no bitterness to be compared
With that between two people who once loved.
Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the outward world.
Poor little thing! She's gasping for love like a carp on a kitchen table gasping for water.
To be in love is not the same as loving. You can be in love with a woman and still hate her.
To men of a certain type
The suspicion that they are incapable of loving
Is as disturbing to their self-esteem
As, in cruder men, the fear of impotence.
It is not reason that governs love.
O hell! to choose love with another's eye.
There is a great life-giving, warming power called Love, which exists in human hearts dumb and unseen, but which has no real life, no warming power, till set free by expression.
The endeavor is vain, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the human heart, love.
When love is in excess it brings a man no honor nor worthiness.
Love, from its awful throne of patient power
In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep,
And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs
And folds over the world its healing wings.
- Love seeketh not itself to please,
- Nor for itself hath any care,
- But for another gives its ease,
- And builds a heaven in hell’s despair.
- WILLIAM BLAKE, The Clod and the Pebble
- Love seeketh only Self to please,
- To bind another to its delight,
- Joys in another’s loss of ease,
- And builds a hell in heaven’s despite.
- WILLIAM BLAKE, The Clod and the Pebble
- O love is the crooked thing,
- There is nobody wise enough
- To find out all that is in it,
- For he would be thinking of love
- Till the stars had run away
- And the shadows eaten the moon.
Every girl has a right to be loved.
- For there's one thing, my lords, it's safe to say;
- Lovers must each be ready to obey
- The other, if they would long keep company.
- Love will not be constrained by mastery;
- When mastery comes the god of love anon
- Stretches his wings and farewell! he is gone.
Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all.
Nothing one does in bed is immoral if it helps to perpetuate love.
It is to the credit of human nature that, except where its selfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates.
Casting aspersions on those we love always does something to loosen our ties. We shouldn't maltreat our idols: the gilt comes off on our hands.
The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.
Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.
- Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
- Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
- More than cool reason ever comprehends.
O tyrant love, to what do you not drive the hearts of men.
- Love is not love
- When it is mingled with regards that stand
- Aloof from the entire point.
A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.
Love knows no virtue, no merit; it loves and forgives and tolerates everything because it must. We are not guided by reason, nor do the assets or blemishes that we discover tempt us to devotion or intimidate us. It is a sweet, mournful, mysterious power that drives us, and we stop thinking, feeling, wishing, we let ourselves drift along and never ask where we are drifting.
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
When one loves, one always believes in love.
Somehow love gives even to a dull man the knowledge of his lover's heart.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned.
I'll tell you what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter.
Love in the young requires as little of hope as of desire to feed upon.
The weak would never enter the kingdom of love, which is a harsh and ungenerous kingdom.
Love is our response to our highest values.
All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh.
When love enters, the whole spiritual constitution of a man changes, is filled with the Holy Ghost, and almost his form is altered.
Love kindled by virtue always kindles another, provided that its flame appear outwardly.
You cannot deny that love lasts for only a brief moment, uniting two beings as a single being that is capable of only one thought, one sensation, one will.
Love makes the air light.
A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man that is lodged in a woman. There is no point of the compass to which they cannot turn, and by which they are not turned, and by one as well as another; for motion, not method, is their occupation. To know this, and yet continue to be in love, is to be made wise from the dictates of reason, and yet persevere to play the fool by the force of instinct.
Love becomes greater and nobler in calamity.
Is it love that connects us, is that what it is? I never knew that the feeling I have is regular old love because it's so--intricate. Perhaps there is another name for it, one we don't yet know. I used to think that love was simple and noticeable, like rain falling, so that just as you'd look at your skin and say Water, you would also wake in the morning and say Love. But it has been underneath, this new and old thing I feel, subterranean, silent and steady, like blood, rushing along and along without often making itself known.
At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love.
If you were blind you would hardly have fallen in love in the first place. But now, do you truly wish to see the beloved in the cold clarity of the visual apparatus? It may be in your better interest to throw a veil over the gaze, so as to keep her alive in her archetypal, goddesslike form.
"To fall for," "to be fallen for"--I feel in these words something unspeakably vulgar, farcical, and at the same time extraordinarily complacent. Once these expressions put in an appearance, no matter how solemn the place, the silent cathedrals of melancholy crumble, leaving nothing but an impression of fatuousness. It is curious, but the cathedrals of melancholy are not necessarily demolished if one can replace the vulgar "What a messy business it is to be fallen for" by the more literary "What uneasiness lies in being loved."
Love Quotes 2
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