Quotes
Quotes about Love
The extent of your consciousness is limited only by your ability to love and to embrace with your love the space around you, and all it contains
Days of absence, sad and dreary, Clothed in sorrow's dark array,-- Days of absence, I am weary; She I love is far away.
'Tis said that absence conquers love; But oh! believe it not I've tried, alas! its power to prove, But thou art not forgot.
Absence, that common cure of love.
Absence from whom we love is worse than death.
Absence is to love what wind is to a fire; it puts out the little, it kindles the great.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; every little absence is an age.
Is not absence death to those who love?
No friend to Love like a long voyage at sea.
POINT OF VIEW Thanksgiving dinner's sad and thankless Christmas dinner's dark and blue When you stop and try to see it From the turkey's point of view. Sunday dinner isn't sunny Easter feasts are just bad luck When you see it from the viewpoint Of a chicken or a duck. Oh how I once loved tuna salad Pork and lobsters, lamb chops too Till I stopped and looked at dinner From the dinner's point of view.
Ah, when to the heart of man was it ever less than a treason to go with the drift of things to yield with a grace to reason and bow and accept at the end of a love or a season.
It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love. This is how the whole scheme of things works. All good things are difficult to achieve; and bad things are very easy to get.
Every man who is high up loves to think that he has done it all himself; and the wife smiles, and lets it go at that.
Farce follow'd Comedy, and reach'd her prime. In ever-laughing Foote's fantastic time; Mad wag! who pardon'd none, nor spared the best, And turn'd some very serious things to jest. Nor church nor state escaped his public sneers, Arms nor the gown, priests, lawyers, volunteers; "Alas, poor Yorick!" now forever mute! Whoever loves a laugh must sigh for Foote. We smile, perforce, when histrionic scenes Ape the swoln dialogue of kings and queens, When "Chrononhotonthelogos must die," And Arthur struts in mimic majesty.
I think I love and reverence all arts equally, only putting my own just above the others; because in it I recognize the union and culmination of my own. To me it seems as if when God conceived the world, that was Poetry; He formed it, and that was Sculpture; He colored it, and that was Painting; He peopled it with living beings, and that was the grand, divine, eternal Drama.
Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks; Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks. The founder's you: the table is the place: The carvers we: the prologue is the grace. Each act, a course, each scene, a different dish, Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for flesh. Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp and rough. Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepperproof? Wit is the wine; but 'tis so scarce the true Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew. Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join. Are butcher's meat, a battle's sirloin: Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft and chaste, Are water-gruel without salt or taste.
A good actor must never be in love with anyone but himself.
People love chopping wood. In this activity one immediately sees results.
We always love those who admire us, and we do not always love those whom we admire.
We always love those who admire us; we do not always love those whom we admire.
Where there's Marriage without Love, there will be Love without Marriage.
I think that I shall never see A billboard lovely as a tree. Indeed, unless the billboards fall, I'll never see a tree at all.
My definition of success is total self acceptance. We can obtain all of the material possessions we desire quite easily, however, attempting to change our deepest thoughts and learning to love ourselves is a monumental challenge. We may achieve success in our business lives but it never quite means as much if we do not feel good inside. Once we feel good about ourselves inside we can genuinely lend ourselves to others.
The extent of your consciousness is limited only by your ability to love and to embrace with your love the space around you, and all it contains.
The hermit doesn't sleep at night, in love with the blue of the vacant moon. The cool of the breeze that rustles the trees rustles him too.
