Motivational Quotes

I know that I can give love for a minute, for half an hour; for a day, for a month, but I can give and I'm very happy to do that and I want to do that.

There is no pain equal to that which two lovers can inflict on one another. This should be made clear to all who contemplate such a union. The avoidance of this pain is the beginning of wisdom, for it is strong enough to contaminate the rest of our lives.

Just because you love someone doesn't mean you have to be involved with them. Love is not a bandage to cover wounds.

If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday -- so much is true.

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

Self-love is the instrument of our preservation.

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's reason's without reason.

Learn what you are and be such.

Love is what happens to a man and woman who don't know each other.

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

We really have to understand the person we want to love. If our love is only a will to possess, it is not love. If we only think of ourselves, if we know only our own needs and ignore the needs of the other person, we cannot love.

One's first love is always perfect until one meets one's second love.

We love because it's the only true adventure.

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

The value of love will always be stronger than the value of hate.. Any nation or group of nations which employs hatred eventually is torn to pieces by hatred...

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

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

Love alone can unite living beings so as to complete and fulfill them... for it alone joins them by what is deepest in themselves. All we need is to imagine our ability to love developing until it embraces the totality of men and the earth.

Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be.

The only victory over love is flight.

People need loving the most when they deserve it the least.

The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end.

Love and war are the same thing, and stratagems and policy are as allowable in the one as in the other.

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

He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses.

I donÆt think anyone can DO anything that would make him worthy of love. Love is a gift and cannot be earned. It can only be given.

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

Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin-it's the triumphant twang of a bedspring.

Love is the affinity which links and draws together the elements of the world... Love, in fact, is the agent of universal synthesis.

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

Love feels no burden, regards not labors, strives toward more than it attains, argues not of impossibility, since it believes that it may and can do all things. Therefore it avails for all things, and fulfils and accomplishes much where one not a lover falls and lies helpless.

Only the really plain people know about love --the very fascinating ones try so hard to create an impression that they very soon exhaust their talents.

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.

The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do, in order to have what you want.

All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.

This is my commandment, that ye love one another. [Jesus, In John 15:12]

Do not wish to be anything except what you are.

You can't show love to someone at the expense of someone else who loves you.

Teach only love for that is what you are.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes... Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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

What the world really needs is more love and less paper work.

In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love

Scratch a lover, and find a foe.

Do everything with so much love in your heart that you would never want to do it any other way.

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

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

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.

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.

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