Motivational Quotes

To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don't want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt.

Love is like the measles, all the worse when it comes late.

Love is stronger than violence.

Love the giver more than the gift.

I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken -- and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived.

Be that self which one truly is.

I would not miss your face, your neck, your hands, your limbs, your bosom and certain other of your charms. Indeed, not to become boring by naming them all, I could do without you, Chloe, altogether.

We love those who admire us, but not those whom we admire.

O, how this spring of love resembleth the uncertain glory of an April day!

Don't hold to anger, hurt or pain. They steal your energy and keep you from love.

There's an evolutionary imperative why we give a crap about our family and friends. And there's an evolutionary imperative why we don't give a crap about anybody else. If we loved all people indiscriminately, we couldn't function.

We only love truly once. It is the first time and succeeding passions are less uncontrolled.

What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers or jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels.

An orange on the table, your dress on the rug, and you in my bed, sweet present of the present, cool of night, warmth of my life.

Love is much nicer to be in than an automobile accident, a tight girdle, a higher tax bracket, or a holding pattern over Philadelphia.

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

In love there are two things -- bodies and words.

Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?

Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.

To always be loved one must ever be agreeable.

Love makes everything that is heavy light.

I remember when I used to sit on hospital beds and hold people?s hands, people used to be shocked because they?d never seen this before. To me it was quite normal.

You can't buy love, but you can pay heavily for it.

Self-love exaggerates our faults as well as our virtues.

To love is to place our happiness in the happiness of another.

A false enchantment can all too easily last a lifetime.

Love ever gives. Forgives outlives. And ever stands with open hands. And while it lives, it gives. For this is love's prerogatives -- to give, and give, and give.

When we understand that man is the only animal who must create meaning, who must open a wedge into neutral nature, we already understand the essence of love. Love is the problem of an animal who must find life, create a dialogue with nature in order to experience his own being.

Darkness can not drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

I do not think that what is called Love at first sight is so great an absurdity as it is sometimes imagined to be. We generally make up our minds beforehand to the sort of person we should like, grave or gay, black, brown, or fair; with golden tresses or raven locks; -- and when we meet with a complete example of the qualities we admire, the bargain is soon struck.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves from all let this be heard some does it with a bitter look some with a flattering word the coward does it with a kiss the brave man with the sword.

Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead. Fill their lives with sweetness, speak cheering words while their ears can hear, and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them. George

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, that he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell!

Love lacked a dwelling, and made him her place; And when in his fair parts she did abide, She was lodged and newly deified.

There is a voice inside which speaks and says: This is the real me!

Love's pure silver flame gives each innermost spirit invisible warmth.

When you give each other everything, it becomes an even trade. Each wins all.

Wicked men obey from fear; good men, from love.

Love feels no burden, regards not labors, strives toward more than it attains, argues not of impossibility, since it believes that it may and can do all things. Therefore it avails for all things, and fulfils and accomplishes much where one not a lover falls and lies helpless.

Everyone admits that love is wonderful and necessary, yet no one agrees on just what it is.

A healthy self-love means we have no compulsion to justify to ourselves or others why we take vacations, why we sleep late, why we buy new shoes, why we spoil ourselves from time to time. We feel comfortable doing things which add quality and beauty to life.

Passion is seldom the end of any story, for it cannot long endure if it is not soon supplemented with true affection and mutual respect.

We know that we have passed from death into life, because we love... [1 John 3:14]

Subdue your passion or it will subdue you.

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

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.

The desire for possession is insatiable, to such a point that it can survive even love itself. To love, therefore, is to sterilize the person one loves.

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.

What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?

No three words have greater power than I Love You.

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