Motivational Quotes

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

Love is a friendship set to music.

Life is the flower for which love is the honey.

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

We don't believe in rheumatism and true love until after the first attack.

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

That is the true season of love; when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved as much before, and that no one will ever love in the same way again.

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

But love is blind and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit; For if they could, Cupid himself would blush To see me thus transformed to a boy.

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

Alas, their love may be call'd appetite. No motion of the liver, but the palate.

I would rather live and love where death is king than have eternal life where love is not.

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.

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

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 grows by sacrifice and the more thoroughly the soul rejects natural satisfaction the stronger and more detached its tenderness becomes.

The hottest love has the coldest end.

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

Love, while you are able to love.

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.

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.

Love is swift, sincere, pious, joyful, generous, strong, patient, faithful, prudent, long-suffering, courageous, and never seeking its own; for wheresoever a person seeketh his own, there he falleth from love.

Wicked men obey from fear; good men, from love.

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

A false enchantment can all too easily last a lifetime.

True love is the parent of humility.

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.

Love is the cheapest of religions.

Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. [Roman 13:9]

By heaven, I do love: and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be mekancholy.

Oh, Jacques, we're used to each other, we're a pair of captive hawks caught in the same cage, and so we've grown used to each other. That's what passes for love at this dim, shadowy end of the Camino Real.

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.

For in the end, we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.

Love conquers all; let us surrender to Love.

Well-ordered self-love is right and natural.

Love without attachment is light.

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.

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

Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much.

When love begins to sicken and decay it uses an enforced ceremony. [Julius Caesar]

The truth is that there is only one terminal dignity -- love. And the story of a love is not important -- what is important is that one is capable of love. It is perhaps the only glimpse we are permitted of eternity.

One would always want to think of oneself as being on the side of love, ready to recognize it and wish it well --but, when confronted with it in others, one so often resented it, questioned its true nature, secretly dismissed the particular instance as folly or promiscuity. Was it merely jealousy, or a reluctance to admit so noble and enviable a sentiment in anyone but oneself?

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

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

If love means that one person absorbs the other, then no real relationship exists any more. Love evaporates; there is nothing left to love. The integrity of self is gone.

To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.

Self-love is the instrument of our preservation.

The greatest gift that you can give to others is the gift of unconditional love and acceptance.

Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing.

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

The wisdom of the wise, and the experience of ages, may be preserved by Motivational Quotes.