Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.
Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.
The most powerful symptom of love is a tenderness which becomes at times almost insupportable.
A simple I love you means more than money.
For love is sufficient unto love.
Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
Love is when the other person's happiness is more important than your own.
The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
Love takes up where knowledge leaves off.
Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.
Love is the only game that is not called on account of darkness.
Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone - but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding.
Free love? as if love is anything but free. Man has bought brains, but all the millions in the world have failed to buy love.
Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, a medley of extemporanea, And love is a thing that can never go wrong, and I am Marie of Romania.
Love is not breathlessness; It is not excitement; It is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love”, which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears; what is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Love is like war; easy to begin, hard to end.
For love is as strong as death.
Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do - but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it.
Love is a gross exaggeration of the difference between one person and everybody else.
The excesses of love soon pass, but its insufficiencies torment us forever.
There can be no peace of mind in love, since the advantage one has secured is never anything but a fresh starting-point for future desires.
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