People who are sensible about love are incapable of it.
We must know how to confide. There is the fear of God and the fear of a Judas. Too much fear makes one labour without love, and too much confidence prevents from considering the danger which we must overcome.
"And what would humans be without love?" Rare, said Death.
The missionary is no longer a man, a conscience. He is a corpse, in the hands of a confraternity, without family, without love, without any of the sentiments that are dear to us. Emasculated, in a sense, by his vow of chastity, he offers us the distressing spectacle of a man deformed and impotent or engaged in a stupid and useless struggle with the sacred needs of the flesh, a struggle which, seven times out of ten, leads him to sodomy, the gallows, or prison.
To be sure, theory is useful. But without warmth of heart and without love it bruises the very ones it claims to save.
One cannot build life from refrigerators, politics, credit statements and crossword puzzles. That is impossible. Nor can one exist for any length of time without poetry, without color, without love.
Nothing is possible without love ... For love puts one in a mood to risk everything.
To live without love, compassion, or any other spiritual value creates a state of such severe imbalance that every cell yearns to correct it. Ultimately, that is what lies behind the onset of disease; the body is sending a message that something lacking in the present—an imbalance existing somewhere—has given rise to highly visible, unarguable, physical symptoms.
Much love much trial, but what an utter desert is life without love.
The only important thing is to follow nature. A tiger should be a good tiger; a tree, a good tree. So people should be people. But to know what people are, one must follow nature and go alone, admitting the importance of the unexpected. Still, nothing is possible without love. . . . For love puts one in a mood to risk everything, and not to withhold important elements.
This deliberately nurtured hatred then spreads to all that is alive, to life itself, to the world with its colors, sounds, and shapes, to the human body. The embittered art of the twentieth century is perishing as a result of this ugly hate, for art is fruitless without love. In the East art has collapsed because it has been knocked down and trampled upon, but in the West the fall has been voluntary, a decline into a contrived and pretentious quest where the artist, instead of attempting to reveal the divine plan, tries to put himself in the place of God.
Four be the things I'd have been better without: love, curiosity, freckles and doubt.
The history of the world suggests that without love of God there is little likelihood of a love for man that does not become corrupt.
The meanest hut with love in it is a palace fit for the gods, and a palace without love is a den only fit for wild beasts.
That's the thing: We didn't really care. A world without love is also a world without stakes.
This is the world we live in, a world of safety and happiness and order, a world without love. A world where children crack their heads on stone fireplaces and nearly gnaw off their tongues and the parents are concerned. Not heartbroken, frantic, desperate. Concerned, as they are when you fail mathematics, as they are when they are late to pay their taxes.
In a world without love, this is what people are to each other: values, benefits, and liabilities, numbers and data. We weigh, we quantify, we measure, and the soul is ground to dust.
Love without truth is sentimentality; it supports and affirms us but keeps us in denial about our flaws. Truth without love is harshness; it gives us information but in such a way that we cannot really hear it.
Without memory there can be no insight. Without love, there can be no appreciation.
I found that the writer who says SUBLATA LUCERNA NULLUM DISCRIMEN INTER MULIERES ('when the lamp is taken away, all women are alike') says true; but without love, this great business is a vile thing.
Without love, all worship is a burden, all dancing is a chore, all music is mere noise.
I don’t count life as life without love
To be brave is to love unconditionally without expecting anything in return.
Before I met my husband, I'd never fallen in love. I'd stepped in it a few times.
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.
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