Motivational Quotes

Love's best habit is a soothing tongue.

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.

Love seeks no cause beyond itself and no fruit; it is its own fruit, its own enjoyment. I love because I love; I love in order that I may love.

Love is not altogether a delirium, yet it has many points in common therewith.

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.

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 the immortal flow of energy that nourishes, extends and preserves. Its eternal goal is life.

Nuptial love makes mankind; friendly love perfects it; but wanton love corrupts and debases it.

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

The only victory over love is flight.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.

Love and pity and wish well to every soul in the world; dwell in love, and then you dwell in God.

If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?

My life is an indivisible whole, and all my attitudes run into one another; and they all have their rise in my insatiable love for mankind.

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we doà?

Love comes when manipulation stops; when you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable.

Many people when they fall in love look for a little haven of refuge from the world, where they can be sure of being admired when they are not admirable, and praised when they are not praiseworthy.

Love may be blind, but it can sure find its way around in the dark!

It is easier to guard a sack full of fleas than a girl in love.

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

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

Love is seeing without eyes, hearing without ears; hatred is nothing.

Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all.

It is a beautiful trait in the lovers character, that they think no evil of the object loved.

Now my love is thaw'd; which, like a waxen image'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was.

I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes -- and the stars through his soul.

We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.

Love is the cheapest of religions.

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

When love begins to sicken and decay, it useth an enforced ceremony.

Love is everything. It is the key to life, and its influences are those that move the world.

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

I would not miss your face, your neck, your hands, your limbs, your bosom and certain other of your charms. Indeed, not to become boring by naming them all, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether.

If we love our country, we should also love our countrymen.

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

To love a thing means wanting it to live.

Love is the master key which opens the gates of happiness.

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

We are nearer loving those who hate us than those who love us more than we wish.

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

Love is the only bow of life's dark cloud. It is the Morning and Evening Star. It shines upon the cradle of the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the Mother of Art, inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher. It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home, kinder of every fire on every hearth, It was the first dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody. Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy, and makes right royal kings of common clay.

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.

We were two and had but one heart between us.

It is easier to keep half a dozen lovers guessing than to keep one lover after he has stopped guessing.

Lord, grant that I might not so much seek to be loved as to love.

A life without love in it is like a heap of ashes upon a deserted hearth, with the fire dead, the laughter stilled and the light extinguished.

The important thing was to love rather than to be loved.

Love, Arthur, is a poodle's chance of attaining the infinite, and personally I have my pride.

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

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

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