Motivational Quotes

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.

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

Love is the river of life in the world.

If you say, I love you, then you have already fallen in love with language, which is already a form of break up and infidelity.

Love makes everything that is heavy light.

We were two and had but one heart between us.

I fell in love with the thought that a human life could be a priestly conduit, a connecting link between earth and sky. As I grew and stumbled and, most important, as I began to love and be loved, I realized that the ultimate priest is the lover inside us

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.

Subdue your passion or it will subdue you.

Love is an ocean of emotions entirely surrounded by expenses.

I define love for our purpose as the passion of one being for another in the hope of being loved in return.

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.

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

Women wish to be loved not because they are pretty, or good, or well bred, or graceful, or intelligent, but because they are themselves.

How we treasure (and admire) the people who acknowledge us!

Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the Gods.

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

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

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

Clarity of mind means clarity of passion, too; this is why a great and clear mind loves ardently and sees distinctly what it loves.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn't all you thought it was. A beautiful girl walked into your life. You fell in love. Or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe just a brief moment of vanity.

It is by loving and by being loved that one can come nearest to the soul of another.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

When once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other, everything seems to widen the breach.

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

When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love.

For where there is true love, a man is neither out of measure lifted up by prosperity, nor cast down by mishap; whether you give or take away from him, so long as he keeps his beloved, he has a spring of inward peace. Thus, even though thy outward man grieve, or weep downright, that may well be borne, if only thy inner man remain at peace, perfectly content with the will of God.

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

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Self-love exaggerates our faults as well as our virtues.

To always be loved one must ever be agreeable.

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.

I adore him I have never been so happy. I have real love.

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

What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers or jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels.

The chameleon Love can feed on the air.

Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone -- but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding.

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it.

The season of love is the carnival of egoism and it brings a touchstone to our natures.

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

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

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell!

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 who were loved will never unlive that crippling fever.

A supreme love, a motive that gives a sublime rhythm to a woman's life, and exalts habit into partnership with the soul's highest needs, is not to be had where and how she wills.

If you could only love enough, you could be the most powerful person in the world.

In the end, I decide that the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love. That the unfinished business between us. Because love, love is never finished. It circles and circles, the memories out of order and not always complete.

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

But I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things.

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