Motivational Quotes

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

Well, love is insanity. The ancient Greeks knew that. It is the taking over of a rational and lucid mind by delusion and self-destruction. You lose yourself, you have no power over yourself, you can't even think straight.

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

A man can go from being a lover to being a stranger in three moves flat but a woman under the guise of friendship will engage in acts of duplicity which come to light very much later. There are different species of self-justification.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.

I remember when I used to sit on hospital beds and hold people?s hands, people used to be shocked because they?d never seen this before. To me it was quite normal.

Passion makes the world go round. Love just makes it a safer place.

Love cures people -- both the ones who give it and the ones who receive it.

But true love is a durable fire, in the mind ever burning. Never sick, never old, never dead. From itself never turning.

Without His love I can do nothing, with His love there is nothing I cannot do.

If any person wish to be idle, let them fall in love.

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

No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread.

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

Love is an ocean of emotions entirely surrounded by expenses.

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.

We are not commanded (or forbidden) to love our mates, our children, our friends, our country because such affections come naturally to us and are good in themselves, although we may corrupt them. We are commanded to love our neighbor because our natural attitude toward the other is one of either indifference or hostility.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.

Listen! Encourage. Say something. Do something. Be yourself. Love

It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook, how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.

The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.

Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun.

Love never reasons, but profusely gives; it gives like a thoughtless prodigal its all, and then trembles least it has done to little.

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.

He who falls in love with himself will have no rivals.

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, by its very nature, is unworldly, and it is for this reason rather than its rarity that it is not only apolitical but anti-political, perhaps the most powerful of all anti-political human forces.

Who travels for love finds a thousand miles not longer than one.

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

I would rather live and love where death is king than have eternal life where love is not.

Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence.

Love is the irresistible desire to be desired irresistibly.

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

Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate.

My God, these folks don't know how to love -- that's why they love so easily.

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

As love without esteem is capricious and volatile; esteem without love is languid and cold.

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.

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 feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength.... It is therefore able to undertake all things, and it completes many things, and warrants them to take effect, where he who does not love would faint and lie down.

Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.

Love is the ability and willingness to allow those that you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you.

Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence.

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

Love is the beauty of the soul.

Love is all you need.

I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.

I love you, not for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.

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