Love is a flower you got to let it grow.
Love is a fire. It burns everyone. It disfigures everyone. It is the world’s excuse for being ugly.
Love is a familiar; love is a devil: there is no evil angel but love.
Love is a disease no one wants to get rid of. Those who catch it never try to get better, and those who suffer do not wish to be cured.[O amor é uma doença da qual ninguém quer livrar-se. Quem foi atacado por ela não procura restabelecer-se, e quem sofre não deseja ser curado.]
Love is a decision? That’s right. A decision. Not a feeling. That’s what you young people don’t realise. That’s why you’re always off divorcing each other.
Love is a dangerous thing. It comes in disguise to change our life.
Love is a conquest! Love is war!
Love in your mind produces love in your life. This is the meaning of Heaven.
Love in this part of the world is no sinecure.
Love in the young requires as little of hope as of desire to feed upon.
Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams.[Любовь деятельная сравнительно с мечтательною есть дело жестокое и устрашающее.]
Love in a hut, with water and a crust, is – Love, forgive us! – cinders, ashes, dust; love in a palace is perhaps at last more grievous torment than a hermit’s fast.
