Motivational Quotes

Great passions, my dear, don't exist: they're liars fantasies. What do exist are little loves that may last for a short or a longer while.

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

The idea that nations should love one another, or that business concerns or marketing boards should love one another, or that a man in Portugal should love a man in Peru of whom he has never heard --it is absurd, unreal, dangerous. The fact is we can only love what we know personally. And we cannot know much.

It is easier to keep half a dozen lovers guessing than to keep one lover after he has stopped guessing.

Love life and life will love you back. Love people and they will love you back.

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.

The chemist who can extract from his heart's elements, compassion, respect, longing, patience, regret, surprise, and forgiveness and compound them into one can create that atom which is called love.

Love and stoplights can be cruel.

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 believe love produces a certain flowering of the whole personality which nothing else can achieve.

We love because it's the only true adventure.

The way to a woman's heart is through your wallet.

Every man loves what he is good at.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love.

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.

Sometimes when you look back on a situation, you realize it wasn't all you thought it was. A beautiful girl walked into your life. You fell in love. Or did you? Maybe it was only a childish infatuation, or maybe just a brief moment of vanity.

Love and pity and wish well to every soul in the world; dwell in love, and then you dwell in God.

He is not a lover who does not love forever.

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

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

What then in love can woman do? If we grow fond they shun us. And when we fly them, they pursue: But leave us when they've won us.

To love a thing means wanting it to live.

To fail to love is not to exist at all.

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.

Real love stories never have endings.

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.

Don't worry about growing older or pleasing others. Please yourself.

I'd rather be able to face myself in the bathroom mirror than be rich and famous.

Love yourself unconditionally, just as you love those closest to you despite their faults.

Love isn't a decision. It's a feeling. If we could decide who we loved, it would be much simpler, but much less magical.

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

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her way.

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 comes when manipulation stops; when you think more about the other person than about his or her reactions to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable.

It is well to be happy and wise and well to be honest and true; it is well to be off with the old love, before you are on with the new.

Love comes from blindness, friendship from knowledge.

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety. Other women cloy the appetites they feed, but she makes hungry where most she satisfies.

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.

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

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.

Immature love says: I love you because I need you. Mature love says: I need you because I love you.

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.

We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.

If we discovered we only had five minutes left to say all we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people telling other people that they loved them.

In every loving woman there is a priestess of the past -- a pious guardian of some affection, of which the object has disappeared.

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

In love, unlike most other passions, the recollection of what you have had and lost is always better than what you can hope for in the future.

One's first love is always perfect until one meets one's second love.

Real love is a pilgrimage. It happens when there is no strategy, but it is very rare because most people are strategists.

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