'Tis not love's going hurts my days, but that it went in little ways.
After all, my erstwhile dear, my no longer cherished, need we say it was no love, just because it perished?
Alas!, how light a cause may move dissention between hearts that love!
Every theory of love, from Plato down, teaches that each individual loves in the other sex what he lacks in himself.
If we all discovered that we had only five minutes left to say all that we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people calling other people to tell them that they loved them.
Immature love says "I love you because I need you." Mature love says "I need you because I love you."
Love doesn't grow on the trees like apples in Eden - it's something you have to make and you must use your imagination to make it too, just like anything else. It's all work, work.
Love is a kind of military service.
Love is nature's second son.
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.
Love is the delusion that one woman differs from another.
Love is the irresistible desire to be desired irresistibly.
Love makes the time pass. Time makes love pass.
Love rules without rules. (Amore regge senza legge.)
Love, the itch, and a cough cannot be hid.
What we call love is the desire to awaken and to keep awake in another's body, heart and mind, the responsibility of flattering, in our place, the self of which we are not very certain.
When one loves somebody, everything is clear - where to go, what to do - it all takes care of itself and one doesn't have to ask anybody about anything.
Where love rules, there is no will to power and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.
Where there is love, there is pain.
Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
