Motivational Quotes

If love be blind, it best agrees with night.

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.

A healthy self-love means we have no compulsion to justify to ourselves or others why we take vacations, why we sleep late, why we buy new shoes, why we spoil ourselves from time to time. We feel comfortable doing things which add quality and beauty to life.

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

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.

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.

What's terrible is to pretend that the second-rate is first-rate, that you don't need love when you do or that you like your work when you know quite well you're capable of better.

In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.

But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise.

We are nearer loving those who hate us than those who love us more than we wish.

A low self-love in the parent desires that his child should repeat his character and fortune.

Love is an emotion that is based on an opinion of women that is impossible for those who have had any experience with them.

To love without role, without power plays, is revolution.

We live in the world when we love it.

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.

However it is debased or misinterpreted, love is a redemptive feature. To focus on one individual so that their desires become superior to yours is a very cleansing experience.

Love is made by two people, in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd, but in an oblivious crowd.

It is a beautiful trait in the lovers character, that they think no evil of the object loved.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved, loved for ourselves, or rather loved in spite of ourselves.

Love is the last relay and ultimate outposts of eternity.

To love is to place our happiness in the happiness of another.

Love is not altogether a delirium, yet it has many points in common therewith.

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

Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.

It is here, my daughters, that love is to be found -- not hidden away in corners but in the midst of occasions of sin. And believe me, although we may more often fail and commit small lapses, our gain will be incomparably the greater.

We are not commanded (or forbidden) to love our mates, our children, our friends, our country because such affections come naturally to us and are good in themselves, although we may corrupt them. We are commanded to love our neighbor because our natural attitude toward the other is one of either indifference or hostility.

To love one child and to love all children, whether living or dead --somewhere these two loves come together. To love a no-good but humble punk and to love an honest man who believes himself to be an honest man --somewhere these, too, come together.

If only the strength of the love that people feel when it is reciprocated could be as intense and obsessive as the love we feel when it is not; then marriages would be truly made in heaven.

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.

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

Don't smother each other. No one can grow in the shade.

I regard as a mortal sin not only the lying of the senses in matters of love, but also the illusion which the senses seek to create where love is only partial. I say, I believe, that one must love with all of one's being, or else live, come what may, a life of complete chastity.

A woman who could always love would never grow old; and the love of mother and wife would often give or preserve many charms if it were not too often combined with parental and conjugal anger. There remains in the face of women who are naturally serene and peaceful, and of those rendered so by religion, an after-spring, and later an after-summer, the reflex of their most beautiful bloom.

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

My love admits no qualifying dross.

Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity.

To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.

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.

I believe the greatest gift I can conceive of having from anyone is to be seen by them, heard by them, to be understood and touched by them.

Those that embrace the entire universe with love, for the most part love nothing, but their narrow selves.

People are such great mysteries. Just when we think we have understood them, a wonderful new aspect shows in them.

People who are sensible about love are incapable of it.

For love... has two faces; one white, the other black; two bodies; one smooth, the other hairy. It has two hands, two feet, two tails, two, indeed, of every member and each one is the exact opposite of the other. Yet, so strictly are they joined together

To always be loved one must ever be agreeable.

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.

What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?

Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all.

Where love is concerned, too much is not even enough.

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

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