Motivational Quotes

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

To love someone is to isolate him from the world, wipe out every trace of him, dispossess him of his shadow, drag him into a murderous future. It is to circle around the other like a dead star and absorb him into a black light.

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

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

People who are not in love fail to understand how an intelligent man can suffer because of a very ordinary woman. This is like being surprised that anyone should be stricken with cholera because of a creature so insignificant as the comma bacillus.

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.

Love is like the measles, all the worse when it comes late.

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

Life is the flower for which love is the honey.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love.

No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread.

In love there are two things -- bodies and words.

The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.

Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.

Love is not blind -- it sees more, not less. But because it sees more, it is willing to see less.

Know the self to be sitting in the chariot, the body to be the chariot, the intellect the charioteer, and the mind the reins.

Love is not a matter of counting the years -- it's making the years count.

If I place love above everything, it is because for me it is the most desperate, the most despairing state of affairs imaginable.

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.

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

Love without attachment is light.

Frustrated love has been the incentive for many great works.

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.

To be able to say how much love, is love but little.

The chameleon Love can feed on the air.

Love is what you've been through with somebody.

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

I believe love is primarily a choice and only sometimes a feeling. If you want to feel love, choose to love and be patient.

Every man loves what he is good at.

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.

I adore him I have never been so happy. I have real love.

For where there is true love, a man is neither out of measure lifted up by prosperity, nor cast down by mishap; whether you give or take away from him, so long as he keeps his beloved, he has a spring of inward peace. Thus, even though thy outward man grieve, or weep downright, that may well be borne, if only thy inner man remain at peace, perfectly content with the will of God.

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

Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.

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.

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.

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

Love is the strange bewilderment that overtakes one person on account of another person.

Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth.

A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved, by others. (Wizard to the Tin Man)

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

Such is the inconsistency of real love, that it is always awake to suspicion, however unreasonable; always requiring new assurances from the object of its interest.

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

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

To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.

How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something, but to be someone.

She hadn't chosen him over all the others. The truth was that she hadn't even thought about anyone else.

Practice being at home with yourself, as you step out to be with others.

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.

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

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