Motivational Quotes

I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like a thorn.

Love is what you've been through with somebody.

True love grows by sacrifice and the more thoroughly the soul rejects natural satisfaction the stronger and more detached its tenderness becomes.

The man who has never made a fool of himself in love will never be wise in love.

To be in love is merely to be in a perpetual state of anesthesia.

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.

Many a man has fallen in love with a girl in light so dim he would not have chosen a suit by it.

After the verb To Love...To Help is the most beautiful verb in the world.

We don't believe in rheumatism and true love until after the first attack.

Follow love and it will flee, flee love and it will follow.

Don't smother each other. No one can grow in the shade.

Love is a better teacher than duty.

If we really love ourselves, everything in our life works.

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.

Love touched her heart, and lo! It beats high, and burns with such brave hearts.

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.

The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do, in order to have what you want.

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.

Madame, it is an old word and each one takes it new and wears it out himself. It is a word that fills with meaning as a bladder with air and the meaning goes out of it as quickly. It may be punctured as a bladder is punctured and patched and blown up again and if you have not had it does not exist for you. All people talk of it, but those who have had it are marked by it, and I would not wish to speak of it further since of all things it is the most ridiculous to talk of and only fools go through it many times.

Love the whole world as a mother lovers her only child.

In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.

The root of the matter the thing I mean is love, Christian love, or compassion. If you feel this, you have a motive for existence, a guide for action, a reason for courage, an imperative necessity for intellectual honesty.

The advantage of love at first sight is that it delays a second sight.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.

That is the true season of love; when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved as much before, and that no one will ever love in the same way again.

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

It is not love that should be depicted as blind, but self-love.

Loving can cost a lot but not loving always costs more, and those who fear to love often find that want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy from life.

Love and stoplights can be cruel.

Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.

A woman who could always love would never grow old; and the love of mother and wife would often give or preserve many charms if it were not too often combined with parental and conjugal anger. There remains in the face of women who are naturally serene and peaceful, and of those rendered so by religion, an after-spring, and later an after-summer, the reflex of their most beautiful bloom.

Love possesses not nor will it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

There's an evolutionary imperative why we give a crap about our family and friends. And there's an evolutionary imperative why we don't give a crap about anybody else. If we loved all people indiscriminately, we couldn't function.

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

Once you have learned to love, You will have learned to live.

My love admits no qualifying dross.

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.

Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.

Love is a given, hatred is acquired.

Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch is, and it darts away.

To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.

Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent.

I've only been in love with a beer bottle and a mirror.

To love someone is to isolate him from the world, wipe out every trace of him, dispossess him of his shadow, drag him into a murderous future. It is to circle around the other like a dead star and absorb him into a black light.

Those that embrace the entire universe with love, for the most part love nothing, but their narrow selves.

To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don't want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.

To love is to receive a glimpse of heaven.

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