Motivational Quotes

When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out.

A man in love mistakes a pimple for a dimple.

Love can never grow old. Locks may lose their brown and gold. Cheeks may fade and hollow grow. But the hearts that love will know, never winter's frost and chill, summer's warmth is in them still.

Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.

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.

The only victory over love is flight.

I love those who do not know how to live for today.

Many will detest you if you spend all your love on yourself.

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

You can't put a price tag on love, but you can on all its accessories.

You will find, as you look back upon your life, that the moments when you really lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.

It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook, how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.

For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life; that word is love.

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 what we are born with. Fear is what we learn. The spiritual journey is the unlearning of fear and prejudices and the acceptance of love back in our hearts. Love is the essential reality and our purpose on earth. To be consciously aware of it, to experience love in ourselves and others, is the meaning of life. Meaning does not lie in things. Meaning lies in us.

It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more than an orgy of the common man. Instead of being a sudden impulse full of ardor and reverie, it becomes a distastefully utilitarian affair.

Let no one believe that he has received the divine kiss, if he knows the truth without loving it or loves it without understanding it. But blessed is that kiss whereby not only is God recognized but also the Father is loved; for there is never full knowledge without perfect love.

Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone -- but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding.

I believe love is primarily a choice and only sometimes a feeling. If you want to feel love, choose to love and be patient.

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

That is the true season of love; when we believe that we alone can love, that no one could ever have loved as much before, and that no one will ever love in the same way again.

The snow goose need not bathe to make itself white. Neither need you do anything but be yourself.

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

The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves, or rather in spite of ourselves.

The sweetest joy, the wildest woe is love.

If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love.

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.

Everything comes to us from others. To Be is to belong to someone.

I fell in love with the thought that a human life could be a priestly conduit, a connecting link between earth and sky. As I grew and stumbled and, most important, as I began to love and be loved, I realized that the ultimate priest is the lover inside us

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

It has ever been since time began, and ever will be, till time lose breath, that love is a mood --no more --to man, and love to a woman is life or death.

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

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

I would rather live and love where death is king than have eternal life where love is not.

Even as one heat another heat expels, or as one nail by strength drives out another, so the remembrance of my former love is by a newer object quite forgotten.

Our affections as well as our bodies are in perpetual flux.

The love of those we don't love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates.

You will always have to live with yourself, and it is to your best interest to see that you have good company -- a clean, pure, straight, honest, upright, generous, magnanimous companion.

Real love is a permanently self-enlarging experience.

We don't always get to choose what we love.

People love others not for who they are, but for how they make them feel.

To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.

He who falls in love with himself will have no rivals.

Love is the final end of the world's history, the Amen of the universe.

It is at the edge of a petal that love waits.

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

Love comes from blindness, friendship from knowledge.

There is no pain equal to that which two lovers can inflict on one another. This should be made clear to all who contemplate such a union. The avoidance of this pain is the beginning of wisdom, for it is strong enough to contaminate the rest of our lives.

In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.

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