Motivational Quotes

Women are often under the impression that men are much more madly in love with them than they really are.

Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.

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

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

It is easy to halve the potato where there is love.

Love is not to be purchased, and affection has no price.

Love is the delusion that one man or woman differs from another.

Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

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

Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... but how much love we put in that action.

Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible.

What is the main thing in love? to know and to hide. To know about the one you love and to hide that you love. At times the hiding (shame) overpowers the knowing (passion). The passion for the hidden -- the passion for the revealed.

To love another person is to see the face of God. [Les Miserables]

I do not love you

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

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.

Love is a state in which a man sees things most decidedly as they are not.

Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart.

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.

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

Above the cloud with its shadow is the star with its light. Above all things reverence thyself.

Love's best habit is a soothing tongue.

Love, while you are able to love.

When you feel good about yourself, others will feel good about you, too.

It is with true love as it is with ghosts; everyone talks about it, but few have seen it.

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.

Not all of us have to possess earthshaking talent. Just common sense and love will do.

If a woman doesn't chase a man a little, she doesn't love him.

Love is what is left in a relationship after all the selfishness is taken out.

Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none.

Romantic love, in pornography as in life, is the mythic celebration of female negation. For a woman, love is defined as her willingness to submit to her own annihilation. The proof of love is that she is willing to be destroyed by the one whom she loves, for his sake. For the woman, love is always self-sacrifice, the sacrifice of identity, will, and bodily integrity, in order to fulfill and redeem the masculinity of her lover.

Some relationships start with fights... But, usually only in romantic comedies. Life's not the movies.

Let no one believe that he has received the divine kiss, if he knows the truth without loving it or loves it without understanding it. But blessed is that kiss whereby not only is God recognized but also the Father is loved; for there is never full knowledge without perfect love.

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

Many a man has fallen in love with a girl in light so dim he would not have chosen a suit by it.

Love is the river of life in the world.

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

The way to a woman's heart is through your wallet.

And ruin'd love when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

My tears of love are a waste of time if I turn away

Love is a spendthrift, leaves it arithmetic at home, is always in the red.

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

I love Mickey Mouse more than any woman I have ever known.

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 cannot think well of a man who sports with any woman's feelings; and there may often be a great deal more suffered than a stander-by can judge of.

After the verb To Love...To Help is the most beautiful verb in the world.

Go to the truth beyond the mind. Love is the bridge.

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

Every day I live I am more convinced that the waste of life lies in the love we have not given, the powers we have not used, the selfish prudence that will risk nothing and which, shirking pain, misses happiness as well.

Love can neither be bought or sold, its only price is love.

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

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