Motivational Quotes

Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness.

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

Many will detest you if you spend all your love on yourself.

Never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command.

Practice being at home with yourself, as you step out to be with others.

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

True love makes the thought of death frequent, easy, without terrors; it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things.

Love can never grow old. Locks may lose their brown and gold. Cheeks may fade and hollow grow. But the hearts that love will know, never winter's frost and chill, summer's warmth is in them still.

Life is the flower for which love is the honey.

Life and love are life and love, a bunch of violets is a bunch of violets, and to drag in the idea of a point is to ruin everything. Live and let live, love and let love, flower and fade, and follow the natural curve, which flows on, pointless.

If they love they know not why, they hate upon no better ground, they hate upon no better a ground.

Love is inseparable from knowledge.

Love is a better teacher than duty.

True love brings up everything - you're allowing a mirror to be held up to you daily.

If you love something let it go free. If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever.

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

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.

I never knew how to worship until I knew how to love.

There is love of course. And then there's life, its enemy.

In a separation it is the one who is not really in loved who says the more tender things.

What will not woman, gentle woman dare; when strong affection stirs her spirit up?

Never try to define love. Once defined love is confined. Once confined -- It dies.

If we discovered we only had five minutes left to say all we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people telling other people that they loved them.

The perversity of the human spirit is such that when a young lady longs for one specific partner, every other partner counts for nothing.

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

A bizarre sensation pervades a relationship of pretense. No truth seems true. A simple morning's greeting and response appear loaded with innuendo and fraught with implications. Each nicety becomes more sterile and each withdrawal more permanent.

It has ever been since time began, and ever will be, till time lose breath, that love is a mood --no more --to man, and love to a woman is life or death.

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

It is of practical value to learn to like yourself. Since you must spend so much time with yourself you might as well get some satisfaction out of the relationship.

Love the giver more than the gift.

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

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.

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.

Perhaps the old monks were right when they tried to root love out; perhaps the poets are right when they try to water it. It is a blood-red flower, with the color of sin; but there is always the scent of a god about it.

A man in love mistakes a pimple for a dimple.

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.

I am a big believer in the mirror test. All that matters is if you can look in the mirror and honestly tell the person you see there, that you've done your best.

To love and be loved is the great happiness of existence.

The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive.

Everything comes to us from others. To Be is to belong to someone.

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

God proved His love on the Cross. When Christ hung, and bled, and died, it was God saying to the world, I love you.

Love's reason's without reason.

Love - THE FEELING - is a fruit of love, the verb.

In every loving woman there is a priestess of the past -- a pious guardian of some affection, of which the object has disappeared.

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love. [The Song Of Solomon 2:5]

In love, as in gluttony, pleasure is a matter of the utmost precision.

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

Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.

There's only one me, and I'm stuck with him.

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