Motivational Quotes

Pity the selfishness of lovers: it is brief, a forlorn hope; it is impossible.

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

It was the men I deceived the most that I loved the most.

Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

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

If it is your time, love will track you down like a cruise missile.

Love is a perky elf dancing a merry little jig and then suddenly he turns on you with a miniature machine gun.

I never knew how to worship until I knew how to love.

To love and be loved is the great happiness of existence.

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

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

Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state. Being in love shows a person who he should be.

If love means that one person absorbs the other, then no real relationship exists any more. Love evaporates; there is nothing left to love. The integrity of self is gone.

Love is inseparable from knowledge.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs. Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes. Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Love means the body, the soul, the life, the entire being. We feel love as we feel the warmth of our blood, we breathe love as we breathe air, we hold it in ourselves as we hold our thoughts. Nothing more exists for us.

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

To love another person is to see the face of God. [Les Miserables]

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 like a fruit. It may look good, but you shouldn't bite in it until it's ripe.

Self-love seems so often unrequited.

Love the whole world as a mother lovers her only child.

Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.

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.

Love, love, love -- all the wretched cant of it, masking egotism, lust, masochism, fantasy under a mythology of sentimental postures, a welter of self-induced miseries and joys, blinding and masking the essential personalities in the frozen gestures of courtship, in the kissing and the dating and the desire, the compliments and the quarrels which vivify its barrenness.

Once you have learned to love, You will have learned to live.

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Romania.

Love is, above all else, the gift of oneself.

I define love for our purpose as the passion of one being for another in the hope of being loved in return.

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.

We always come back to our first love.

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

The love of liberty is the love of others; the love of power is the love of ourselves. We cannot force love.

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

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.

In a great romance, each person plays a part the other really likes.

Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another's soul.

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.

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.

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

We are all born for love. It is the principle of existence, and its only end.

Love is the great miracle cure. Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives.

Whether life is worth living depends on whether there is love in life.

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

Know that you are your greatest enemy, but also your greatest friend.

They do not love that do not show their love. The course of true love never did run smooth. Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.

Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.

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

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

The wisdom of the wise, and the experience of ages, may be preserved by Motivational Quotes.