You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.
I have waited for this
opportunity for more than half a century, to repeat to you once again my
vow of eternal fidelity and everlasting love.
If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.
Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.
Each time you happen to me all over again.
I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.
You know what I am going to say. I love you.
What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell;
what I mean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous
attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me.
‘Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.
The winds were warm about us, the whole earth seemed the wealthier for our love.
In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My
feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how
ardently I admire and love you.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.
To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.
By my soul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep; nor, what’s still worse, love any woman in the world but her.
Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
That the last two letters in her name were
the first two in his, a silly thing he never mentioned to her but caused
him to believe that they were bound together.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind/And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.
It isn’t possible to love and part. You will
wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you
can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are
right: love is eternal.
I would die for you. But I won’t live for you.
As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.
I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.
It doesn’t matter who you are or what you look like, so long as somebody loves you.
You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madness
Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone, it has to be made, like bread; remade all the time, made new.
What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.
The highest function of love is that it makes the loved one a unique and irreplaceable being.
A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved
I think you still love me, but we can’t
escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to
happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman.
I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot
of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was
wrong.
“Highly sensitive people are too often perceived as weaklings or damaged goods. To feel intensely is not a symptom of weakness, it is the trademark of the truly alive and compassionate. It is not the empath who is broken, it is society that has become dysfunctional and emotionally disabled. There is no shame in expressing your authentic feelings. Those who are at times described as being a 'hot mess' or having 'too many issues' are the very fabric of what keeps the dream alive for a more caring, humane world. Never be ashamed to let your tears shine a light in this world.”
“Religion can never reform mankind because religion is slavery. It is far better to be free, to leave the forts and barricades of fear, to stand erect and face the future with a smile. It is far better to give yourself sometimes to negligence, to drift with wave and tide, with the blind force of the world, to think and dream, to forget the chains and limitations of the breathing life, to forget purpose and object, to lounge in the picture gallery of the brain, to feel once more the clasps and kisses of the past, to bring life's morning back, to see again the forms and faces of the dead, to paint fair pictures for the coming years, to forget all Gods, their promises and threats, to feel within your veins life's joyous stream and hear the martial music, the rhythmic beating of your fearless heart. And then to rouse yourself to do all useful things, to reach with thought and deed the ideal in your brain, to give your fancies wing, that they, like chemist bees, may find art's nectar in the weeds of common things, to look with trained and steady eyes for facts, to find the subtle threads that join the distant with the now, to increase knowledge, to take burdens from the weak, to develop the brain, to defend the right, to make a palace for the soul. This is real religion. This is real worship”
“I think, therefore I am is the statement of an intellectual who underrates toothaches. I feel, therefore I am is a truth much more universally valid, and it applies to everything that's alive. My self does not differ substantially from yours in terms of its thought. Many people, few ideas: we all think more or less the same, and we exchange, borrow, steal thoughts from one another. However, when someone steps on my foot, only I feel the pain. The basis of the self is not thought but suffering, which is the most fundamental of all feelings. While it suffers, not even a cat can doubt its unique and uninterchangeable self. In intense suffering the world disappears and each of us is alone with his self. Suffering is the university of egocentrism.”
“For our part, when we feel, we
evaporate; ah, we breathe
ourselves out and away; with each new
heartfire
we give off a fainter scent. True,
someone may tell us:
you're in my blood, this room, Spring
itself
is filled with you . . . To what end?
He can't hold us,
we vanish within him and around him.”
“She sang, as requested. There was much about love in the ballad: faithful love that refused to abandon its object; love that disaster could not shake; love that, in calamity, waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The words were set to a fine old air -- in themselves they were simple and sweet: perhaps, when read, they wanted force; when well sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well: she breathed into the feeling, softness, she poured round the passion, force: her voice was fine that evening; its expression dramatic: she impressed all, and charmed one.
On leaving the instrument, she went to the fire, and sat down on a seat -- semi-stool, semi-cushion: the ladies were round her -- none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her, as quiet poultry might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. What made her sing so? They never sang so. Was it proper to sing with such expression, with such originality -- so unlike a school girl? Decidedly not: it was strange, it was unusual. What was strange must be wrong; what was unusual must be improper. Shirley was judged.”
no matter how u run away, no matter how can u pretend, no matter how scared u are
there is gona be the sense u have missed something, fallen heart feeling u mixed with in the
moments u should live, u will get used to that feeling, believe me when i tell u, this is crazy, some day ur life will be so
u r just warming up”
We realize we can't go around saying and doing what we're actually thinking and feeling. If we all did that, life would be a lunatic asylum. Indeed, that's how you know you're talking to a lunatic. Lunatics are those poor souls who have lost their inner communication and so they allow themselves to say and do exactly what they are thinking and feeling and that's why they're mad.”
“He sighed profoundly, and flung himself - there was a passion in his movements which deserves the word - on the earth at the foot of the oak tree. He loved, beneath all this summer transiency, to feel the earth's spine beneath him; for such he took the hard root of the oak tree to be; or, for image followed image, it was the back of a great horse that he was riding; or the deck of a tumbling ship - it was anything indeed, so long as it was hard, for he felt the need of something which he could attach his floating heart to; the heart that tugged at his side; the heart that seemed filled with spiced and amorous gales every evening about this time when he walked out. To the oak tree he tied it and as he lay there, gradually the flutter in and about him stilled itself; the little leaves hung, the deer stopped; the pale summer clouds stayed; his limbs grew heavy on the ground; and he lay so still that by degrees the deer stopped nearer and the rooks wheeled round him and the swallows dipped and circled and the dragonflies shot past, as if all the fertility and amorous activity of a summer's evening were woven web-like about his body.”
Conversation, to take another example, is one of the common pleasures of life, but not all conversation is pleasurable. The stutterer finds talking painful, and the listener is equally pained. Persons who are inhibited in expressing feeling are not good conversationalists. Nothing is more boring than to listen to a person talk in a monotone without feeling. We enjoy a conversation when there is a communication of feeling. We have pleasure in expressing our feelings, and we respond pleasurably to another person's expression of feeling. The voice, like the body, is a medium through which feeling flows, and when this flow occurs in an easy and rhythmic manner, it is a pleasure both to the speaker and listener.”
“Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it - and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended - a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.”
Yes! Thank God; human feeling is like the mighty rivers that bless the earth: it does not wait for beauty—it flows with resistless force and brings beauty with it... There are few prophets in the world; few sublimely beautiful women; few heroes. I can't afford to give all my love and reverence to such rarities: I want a great deal of those feelings for my every-day fellow-men, especially for the few in the foreground of the great multitude, whose faces I know, whose hands I touch, for whom I have to make way with kindly courtesy.”
“Think of how you feel when you are sick, or how you felt when you were learning to ride your bike. The physical state of your body has a direct effect on how you think about the world, on the state of your mind. I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that your body has a direct effect on who you are. (30)
