Motivational Quotes

When we are in love we seem to ourselves quite different from what we were before.

An affair wants to spill, to share its glory with the world. No act is so private it does not seek applause.

The spiritualization of sensuality is called love: it is a great triumph over Christianity.

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

Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.

Our first and last love is... self-love.

Love is shown in your deeds, not in your words.

Only the words of love kept alive are worthy of not being wasted

If there is anything better than to be loved it is loving.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

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

One can be a soldier without dying, and a lover without sighing.

The chemist who can extract from his heart's elements, compassion, respect, longing, patience, regret, surprise, and forgiveness and compound them into one can create that atom which is called love.

The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.

Life's greatest happiness is to be convinced we are loved.

If somebody says, I love you, to me, I feel as though I had a pistol pointed at my head. What can anybody reply under such conditions but that which the pistol-holder requires? I love you, too.

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

Love is everything it's cracked up to beàIt really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.

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

The way of peace is the way of love. Love is the greatest power on earth. It conquers all things.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.

We can only learn to love by loving.

Love is the big booming beat which covers up the noise of hate.

It's afterwards you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn't necessarily prove that you loved him.

Do all things with love.

I love those who do not know how to live for today.

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

Love is a given, hatred is acquired.

Better to have loved a short man than never to have loved a tall.

Love is rarer than genius itself. And friendship is rarer than love.

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.

In love, unlike most other passions, the recollection of what you have had and lost is always better than what you can hope for in the future.

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.

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

We only love truly once. It is the first time and succeeding passions are less uncontrolled.

You can't buy love, but you can pay heavily for it.

Love is the river of life in the world.

Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

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.

Pure love is a willingness to give without a thought of receiving anything in return.

To an ordinary human being, love means nothing if it does not mean loving some people more than others.

The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transform.

If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.

Mistresses are like books; if you pore upon them too much, they doze you and make you unfit for company; but if used discreetly, you are the fitter for conversation by em.

Love comes from blindness, friendship from knowledge.

Love is not only something you feel. It's something you do.

Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun.

All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon sand.

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.

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

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