Motivational Quotes

And ruin'd love when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.

Passion makes the world go round. Love just makes it a safer place.

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

A man in love is like a clipped coupon -- it's time to cash in.

The only victory over love is flight.

It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun.

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

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

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

To always be loved one must ever be agreeable.

What's so remarkable about Love at first sight? It's when people have been looking at each other for years that it becomes remarkable.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.

The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you need to do, in order to have what you want.

Love consists not in feeling great things but in having great detachment and in suffering for the Beloved.

Everybody forgets the basic thing; people are not going to love you unless you love them.

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.

The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive.

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

The season of love is the carnival of egoism and it brings a touchstone to our natures.

'Light fuse and get away'may work for a Roman candle, but not so much for the wrath of a woman scorned.

Nowadays men cannot love seven night but they must have all their desires: that love may not endure by reason; for where they be soon accorded and hasty, heat soon it cooleth. Right so fareth love nowadays, soon hot soon cold: this is no stability. But the old love was not so.

Human Love... It is that extra creation that stands hurt and baffled at the place of death. Being human, wanting children and sunlight and breath to go on, forever.

Love makes everything that is heavy light.

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.

Love conquers all; let us surrender to Love.

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.

Lovers should also have their days off.

When love begins to sicken and decay, it useth an enforced ceremony.

Love is the final end of the world's history, the Amen of the universe.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life; that word is love.

'Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it.

The hind that would be mated by the lion must die for love.

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

Without His love I can do nothing, with His love there is nothing I cannot do.

When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.

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 best way to know God is to love many things.

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

You will always have to live with yourself, and it is to your best interest to see that you have good company -- a clean, pure, straight, honest, upright, generous, magnanimous companion.

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

If love is shelter, I'm going to walk in the rain.

Some cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love. [The Song Of Solomon 2:5]

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.

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

It is by loving and by being loved that one can come nearest to the soul of another.

My first thoughts are that I should not let people down, that I should support them and love them.

To love a thing means wanting it to live.

In every question and every remark tossed back and forth between lovers who have not played out the last fugue, there is one question and it is this: Is there someone new?

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