Love is my religion - I could die for it.
Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.
Art is not necessary at all. All that is necessary to make this world a better place to live in is to love - to love as Christ loved, as Buddha loved.
No evil dooms us hopelessly except the evil we love, and desire to continue in, and make no effort to escape from.
Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.
I don't want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
For 'tis impossible Hate to return with love.
Love conquers all things except poverty and toothache.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
One of my theories is that men love with their eyes; women love with their ears.
Love and you shall be loved. All love is mathematically just, as much as two sides of an algebraic equation.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
What was love, really? Flowers, chocolate, and poetry? Or was it something else? Was it being able to finish someone's jokes? Was it having absolute faith that someone was there at your back? Was it knowing someone so well that they instantly understood why you did the things you did—and shared those same beliefs?
I will love you unconditionally .
I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.
Perfection isn't human. Human beings are not perfect. What evokes our love--and I mean love, not lust--is the imperfection of the human being. So, when the imperfection of the real person peaks through, say, 'This is a challenge to my compassion.' Then make a try, and something might begin to get going.
Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently.
Everything but "I LOVE YOU" is small talk.
Love knows not distance; it hath no continent; its eyes are for the stars.
The more I wonder, the more I love.
Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.
She hadn't chosen him over all the others. The truth was that she hadn't even thought about anyone else.
This is the hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep modest as a giver.
The true light never hides the darkness but is born out of the very center of it, transforming and redeeming. So to the darkness we must return, each of us individually accepting his ignorance and loneliness, his sin and weakness, and, most difficult of all, consenting to wait in the dark and even to love the waiting
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