Quotes
Quotes to inspire and reflect
The word “love” bridges for us those chasms of momentary indifference and boredom which gape from time to time between even the most ardent lovers.
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As selfishness and complaint pervert and cloud the mind, so love with its joy clears and sharpens the vision.
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Love is the true price of love.
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When peoples care for you and cry for you, they can straighten out your soul.
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What is first love worth, except to prepare for a second? / What does second love bring? Only regret for the first.
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When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve.
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They are always saying God loves us. If that’s love I’d rather have a bit of kindness.
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Words have no language which can utter the secrets of love; and beyond the limits of expression is the expounding of desire.
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Love is a universal migraine, / A bright stain on the vision, / Blotting out reason.
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’Tis much to gain universal admiration; more, universal love.
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Even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
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Friendship is a disinterested commerce between equals; love, an object intercourse between tyrants and slaves.
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Love makes use of the worst traps. The least noble. The rarest. It exploits coincidence.
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There is more pleasure in loving than in being beloved.
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Love. The black hook. The spear singing through the mind.
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No love can be bound by oath or covenant to secure it against a higher love.
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Love is the bright foreigner, the foreign self.
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He that loveth maketh his own the grandeur he loves.
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Love joins and then divides. How else would we be growing?
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Love compels cruelty / To those who do not understand love.
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Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; / And every little absence is an age.
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Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age, / When no man dies for love, but on the stage.
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Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?
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Love is a growing, or full constant light; / And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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Love is done when Love’s begun, / Sages say, / But have Sages known?
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Being got it [love] is a treasure sweet, / Which to defend, is harder than to get: / And ought not be profaned on either part, / For though 'tis got by chance, tis kept by art.
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Behold this little Bane—/The Boon of all alive— / As common as it is unknown / The name of it is Love.
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No man may be so cursed by priest or pope / but what the Eternal Love may still return / while any thread of green lives on in hope.
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Love alone / is the true seed of every merit in you, / and of all acts for which you must atone.
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Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.
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If there’s delight in love, 'tis when I see / That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.
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To love a thing means wanting it to live.
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Love is the admiration and cherishing of the amiable qualities of the beloved person, upon the condition of yourself being the object of their action.
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Then fly betimes, for only they / Conquer Love that run away.
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’Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark / Our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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On the whole, love comes with the speed of light; separation, with that of sound.
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You say that love is nonsense.... I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain, an ache about the heart, never leaving one, by night or by day; a long strain on one’s nerves like toothache or rheumatism, not intolerable at any one instant, but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength.
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It [love] is a disease to be born with patience, like any nervous complaint, and to be treated with counter-irritants.
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A good man should and must / Sit rather down with loss than rise unjust.
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It is the image in the mind that binds us to our lost treasures, but it is the loss that shapes the image.
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When the world has once begun to use us ill, it afterwards continues the same treatment with less scruple or ceremony, as men do to a whore.
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Nobody ever chooses the already unfortunate as objects of his loyal friendship.
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If a man once fall, all will tread upon him.
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It takes a genius to whine appealingly.
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Not a soul takes thought how well he may live— only how long: yet a good life might be everybody’s, a long one can be nobody’s.
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In a game, just losing is almost as satisfying as just winning.... In life the loser’s score is always zero.
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The man who has lived the longest is not he who has spent the greatest number of years, but he who has had the greatest sensibility of life.
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Nothing can be meaner than the anxiety to live on, to live on anyhow and in any shape.
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