Love, with very young people, is a heartless business. We drink at that age from thirst, or to get drunk; it is only later in life that we occupy ourselves with the individuality of our wine.
Love is agrowing, to full constant light; and his first minute, after noon, is night.
Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other.
Love must not touch the marrow of the soul. Our affections must be breakable chains that we can cast them off or tighten them.
There is hardly any activity, any enterprise, which is started out with such tremendous hopes and expectations, and yet which fails so regularly, as love
Love is union with somebody, or something, outside oneself, under the condition of retaining the separateness and integrity of one's ownself.
Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists.... When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. . . . It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.
I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.
True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen.
Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love, than in being undeceived by them.
To a person in love, the value of the individual is intuitively known. Love needs no logic for its missi
This was love at first sight, love everlasting: a feeling unknown, unhoped for, unexpected-in so far as it could be a matter of conscious awareness; it took entire possession of him, and he understood, with joyous amazement, that this was for life.
We don't love qualities, we love persons; sometimes by reason of their defects as well as of their qualities.
We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.
Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.
A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman in whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
Love is a driver, bitter and fierce if you fight and resist him, Easy-going enough once you acknowledge his power.
We conceal it from ourselves in vain--we must always love something. In those matters seemingly removed from love, the feeling is secretly to be found, and man cannot possibly live for a moment without it.
Love, free as air at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.