Motivational Quotes

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

Monkeys are superior to men in this: when a monkey looks into a mirror, he sees a monkey.

We live in the world when we love it.

Love is a friendship caught on fire.

Oh, love is real enough; you will find it someday, but it has one archenemy -- and that is life.

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.

What the world really needs is more love and less paper work.

Couples are jigsaw puzzles that hang together by touching in just enough points. They're never total fits or misfits.

My mistress'eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips'red... I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.

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.

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

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

I know that I can give love for a minute, for half an hour; for a day, for a month, but I can give and I'm very happy to do that and I want to do that.

Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy, absent-minded. Someone sober will worry about events going badly. Let the lover be.

Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.

When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.

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

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.

Love means to love that which is unlovable; or it is no virtue at all.

The more one loves a mistress, the more one is ready to hate her.

When a person is uncertain in love, there is nothing easier than for him to put one and one together and to make three out of them.

Love is said to be blind, but I know some fellows in love who can see twice as much in their sweethearts as I do.

Love may be blind, but it can sure find its way around in the dark!

What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers or jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels.

If marriage is your object, you'd better start loving your subject.

We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love object or its love.

Listen! Encourage. Say something. Do something. Be yourself. Love

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.

Love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases to be a secret.

Be that self which one truly is.

O, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day!

Infinite hungers leap no more I in the chance swaying of your dress; and love has changed to kindliness.

We love those who admire us, but not those whom we admire.

Love is stronger than violence.

Can there be a love which does not make demands on its object?

This world is not for aye, nor'tis not strange That even our loves should with our fortunes change. For'tis a question left us yet to prove, Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love.

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

Real love is a permanently self-enlarging experience.

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

Romantic love, in pornography as in life, is the mythic celebration of female negation. For a woman, love is defined as her willingness to submit to her own annihilation. The proof of love is that she is willing to be destroyed by the one whom she loves, for his sake. For the woman, love is always self-sacrifice, the sacrifice of identity, will, and bodily integrity, in order to fulfill and redeem the masculinity of her lover.

All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear.

At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.

By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another. [John 13:35]

Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.

Love shall be our token; love be yours and love be mine.

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.

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.

To be among people one loves, that's sufficient; to dream, to speak to them, to be silent among them, to think of indifferent things; but among them, everything is equal.

Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing.

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