Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart! Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves!
Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.
I need you because I love you.
Love distills desire upon the eyes, love brings bewitching grace into the heart.
I got ice in my veins Blood in my eyes/Hate in my heart Love in my mind
For those who love... time is eternity.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his
What will a man not do when frantic with love? To what baseness will he not demean himself? What pangs will he not make others suffer, so that he may ease his selfish heart?
Love is like a friendship caught on fire.
Love--what a volume in a word, an ocean in a tear, A seventh heaven in a glance, a whirlwind in a sigh, The lightning in a touch, a millennium in a moment, What concentrated joy or woe in blest or blighted love! For it is that native poetry springing up indigenous to Mind, The heart's own-country music thrilling all its chords, The story without an end that angels throng to hear, The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart!
Time is: Too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear.
I know death is the fascinating snake under the leaves, sliding and sliding; I know the heart loves him too, can't turn away, can't break the spell. Everything wants to enter the slow thickness, aches to be peaceful finally and at any cost. Wants to be stone.
There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.
By her shining and her power he knew her.
Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.
Without warning as a whirlwind swoops on an oak Love shakes my heart
Love is a spy who is plotting treason, In league with that warm, red rebel, the Heart.
Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care; Love leads us upward, to the mountain height, And, like an angel, stands beside us there; Then thrusts us, demon-like, in some abyss: Where, in the darkness of despair, we grope, Till, suddenly, Love greets us with a kiss And guides us back to flowery fields of hope.
Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require.
Angels listen when she speaks; She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder.
Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial-place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me.
Struggling over my fickle heart, love draws it now this way, and now hate that--but love, I think, is winning. I will hate, if I have strength; if not, I shall love unwilling.
Do not close your heart against all my efforts to help you.
In love, first please the eye, then win the heart.
A complete need should not exist... love, life in common with loved ones?
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