Motivational Quotes

I love a hand that meets my own with a grasp that causes some sensation.

The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved, loved for ourselves, or rather loved in spite of ourselves.

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.

Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more.

One seeks to make the loved one entirely happy, or, if that cannot be, entirely wretched.

What is love? It is the morning and the evening star.

Where love is concerned, too much is not even enough.

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

Love without attachment is light.

One does not fall in love; one grows into love, and love grows in him.

There is an important difference between love and friendship. While the former delights in extremes and opposites, the latter demands equality.

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

Love is not blind -- it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less.

The snow goose need not bathe to make itself white. Neither need you do anything but be yourself.

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

Love is often nothing but a favorable exchange between two people who get the most of what they can expect, considering their value on the personality market.

If we are to judge of love by its consequences, it more nearly resembles hatred than friendship.

Love matches are made by people who are content, for a month of honey, to condemn themselves to a life of vinegar.

Art is not necessary at all. All that is necessary to make this world a better place to live in is to love --to love as Christ loved, as Buddha loved.

When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out.

If love be blind, it best agrees with night.

If there is any country on earth where the course of true love may be expected to run smooth, it is America.

Love talked about is easily turned aside, but love demonstrated is irresistible.

If you cannot inspire a woman with love of you, fill her above the brim with love of herself; all that runs over will be yours.

The fickleness of the women I love is only equaled by the infernal constancy of the women who love me.

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, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much.

If love is shelter, I'm going to walk in the rain.

In every question and every remark tossed back and forth between lovers who have not played out the last fugue, there is one question and it is this: Is there someone new?

It is difficult to lay aside a confirmed passion.

Love means the body, the soul, the life, the entire being. We feel love as we feel the warmth of our blood, we breathe love as we breathe air, we hold it in ourselves as we hold our thoughts. Nothing more exists for us.

One would always want to think of oneself as being on the side of love, ready to recognize it and wish it well --but, when confronted with it in others, one so often resented it, questioned its true nature, secretly dismissed the particular instance as folly or promiscuity. Was it merely jealousy, or a reluctance to admit so noble and enviable a sentiment in anyone but oneself?

Love is the great miracle cure. Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives.

Everybody forgets the basic thing; people are not going to love you unless you love them.

People love others not for who they are, but for how they make them feel.

Gravity. It keeps you rooted to the ground. In space, there's not any gravity. You just kind of leave your feet and go floating around. Is that what being in love is like?

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity.

Love the art in yourself and not yourself in the art.

The best way will be to avoid each other without appearing to do so -- or if we jostle, at any rate not to bite.

Love is the total absence of fear. Love asks no questions. Its natural state is one of extension and expansion, not comparison and measurement.

Is love supposed to last throughout all time, or is it like trains changing at random stops. If I loved her, how could I leave her? If I felt that way then, how come I don't feel anything now?

I hated her now with a hatred more fatal than indifference because it was the other side of love.

The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound.

Love means never having to say you're sorry.

If it is your time, love will track you down like a cruise missile.

But the strong base and building of my love is as the very centre of the earth, drawing all things to it.

For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth.

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.

You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving.

The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time.

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