Love must be free to wander, to land upon its chosen shore and breathe.
Love meant that you care for another person’s happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.
Love means constantly saying you’re sorry, and then doing better.
Love may be or it may not, but where it is, it ought to reveal itself in its immensity.[L’amour vrai, sans chicanes: il est ou n’est pas; mais quand il est, il doit se produire dans son immensité.]
Love makes you want to be a better man. But maybe love, real love, also gives you permission to just be the man you are.
Love makes fools of all of us, big and little.
Love loves to love love.
Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues; Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues.
Love life seems to be that factor which requires the largest quantity of magical tinkering.
Love isn’t there to make us happy. I believe it exists to show us how much we can endure.
Love isn’t just wanting another person the way you want to own an object you see in a store. That’s just desire. You want to have it around, take it home and set it up somewhere in the apartment like a lamp. Love is like a father saving his children from a burning house, getting them out and dying himself. When you love you cease to live for yourself; you live for another person.
Love isn’t just a feeling; it’s an art. And like any art, it takes not only inspiration, but also a lot of work.[O amor não é apenas um sentimento; é uma arte. E, como qualquer arte, não basta inspiração, é preciso também muito trabalho.]
