Motivational Quotes

Love is the only bow of life's dark cloud. It is the Morning and Evening Star. It shines upon the cradle of the babe, and sheds its radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the Mother of Art, inspirer of poet, patriot, and philosopher. It is the air and light of every heart, builder of every home, kinder of every fire on every hearth, It was the first dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody. Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to joy, and makes right royal kings of common clay.

Some cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook, how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.

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

We love but once, for once only are we perfectly equipped for loving.

Love is seeing without eyes, hearing without ears; hatred is nothing.

Love means never having to say you're sorry.

When we understand that man is the only animal who must create meaning, who must open a wedge into neutral nature, we already understand the essence of love. Love is the problem of an animal who must find life, create a dialogue with nature in order to experience his own being.

Nuptial love makes mankind; friendly love perfects it; but wanton love corrupts and debases it.

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

Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength.... It is therefore able to undertake all things, and it completes many things, and warrants them to take effect, where he who does not love would faint and lie down.

The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound.

It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created for years or even generations.

Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.

We often speak of love when we really should be speaking of the drive to dominate or to master, so as to confirm ourselves as active agents, in control of our own destinies and worthy of respect from others.

Nothing is more beautiful than the love that has weathered the storms of life. The love of the young for the young, that is the beginning of life. But the love of the old for the old, that is the beginning of things longer.

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.

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

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.

If we really love ourselves, everything in our life works.

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

The more you like yourself, the less you are like anyone else, which makes you unique.

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.

The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic that to love others.

Those whom true love has held, it will go on holding.

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

Could you imagine how horrible things would be if we always told others how we felt? Life would be intolerably bearable.

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

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

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

Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?

There's a lot to be said for self-delusionment when it comes to matters of the heart.

As Plato sometimes speaks of the divine love, it arises not out of indigency, as created love does, but out of fullness and redundancy; it is an overflowing fountain, and that love which descends upon created being is a free efflux from the almighty source of love; and it is well pleasing to him that those creatures which he hath made should partake of it.

Love is like pi -- natural, irrational, and very important.

Be that self which one truly is.

The root of the matter the thing I mean is love, Christian love, or compassion. If you feel this, you have a motive for existence, a guide for action, a reason for courage, an imperative necessity for intellectual honesty.

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we doà?

Love and work are the cornerstones of our humanness.

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

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like a thorn.

Falling in love consists merely in uncorking the imagination and bottling the common-sense.

True love brings up everything - you're allowing a mirror to be held up to you daily.

There is an important difference between love and friendship. While the former delights in extremes and opposites, the latter demands equality.

Love is a chain of love as nature is a chain of life.

What makes lovers never tire of one another is that they talk always about themselves.

Love is a better teacher than duty.

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.

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.

The world is wonderful and beautiful and good beyond one's wildest imagination. Never, never, never could one conceive what love is, beforehand, never. Life can be great --quite god-like. It can be so. God be thanked I have proved it.

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