What is better than to love and live with the loved? But that must sometimes bring us to live with the dead; and this too turns at last into a very tranquil and sweet tie, safe from change and injury.
There is no sorrow I have thought more about than that – to love what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail.
Perfect love has a breath of poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human beings.
Our love at its highest flood rushes beyond its object, and loses itself in the sense of divine mystery.
Only in the agony of parting we look into the depths of love.
No anguish I have had to bear on your account has been too heavy a price to pay for the new life into which I have entered in loving you.
Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves.
Learning to love any one is like an increase of property – it increases care, and brings many new fears lest precious things should come to harm.
I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved.
For what is love itself, for the one we love best? – an enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love.
Blessed influence of one true loving human soul on another!
Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.
