Motivational Quotes

What's so remarkable about Love at first sight? It's when people have been looking at each other for years that it becomes remarkable.

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Romania.

Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved.

Lovers may be -- and indeed generally are -- enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.

The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.

Love is a tyrant sparing none.

Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another's soul.

Love is not to be purchased, and affection has no price.

Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

True love is the parent of humility.

We don't always get to choose what we love.

Love is like a poisonous mushroom -- you don't know if it is the real thing until it is too late

The spiritualization of sensuality is called love: it is a great triumph over Christianity.

We were two and had but one heart between us.

This world is not for aye, nor'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change. For'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.

If somebody says, I love you, to me, I feel as though I had a pistol pointed at my head. What can anybody reply under such conditions but that which the pistol-holder requires? I love you, too.

Above the cloud with its shadow is the star with its light. Above all things reverence thyself.

Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?

Love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit.

To be able to say how much love, is love but little.

Love is the strange bewilderment that overtakes one person on account of another person.

There is a voice inside which speaks and says: This is the real me!

We cease loving ourselves if no one loves us.

I do not love you

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

We know that we have passed from death into life, because we love... [1 John 3:14]

The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic that to love others.

We love but once, for once only are we perfectly equipped for loving.

There's always one who loves and one who lets himself be loved.

For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.

Love alone can unite living beings so as to complete and fulfill them... for it alone joins them by what is deepest in themselves. All we need is to imagine our ability to love developing until it embraces the totality of men and the earth.

Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy -- and that is life.

Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest.

Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Love is made by two people, in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd, but in an oblivious crowd.

Love's greatest gift is its ability to make everything it touches sacred.

True love means two seeds grow separately until they join in Matrimony forever.

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.

I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at.

Love is the victim's response to the rapist.

Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves.

I donÆt think anyone can DO anything that would make him worthy of love. Love is a gift and cannot be earned. It can only be given.

If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.

It is the privilege of those who fear love to murder those who do not fear it!

Loving people live in a loving world. Hostile people live in a hostile world. Same world.

It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.

The value of love will always be stronger than the value of hate.. Any nation or group of nations which employs hatred eventually is torn to pieces by hatred...

The desire for possession is insatiable, to such a point that it can survive even love itself. To love, therefore, is to sterilize the person one loves.

Let the first impulse pass, wait for the second.

Real love is a pilgrimage. It happens when there is no strategy, but it is very rare because most people are strategists.

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