Relationships and Family

One is very crazy when in love.

It is impossible to love and to be wise.

Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo Deny thy father, and refuse thy name...

Motherhood all love begins and ends there.

The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.

If Jack's in love, he's no judge of Jill's beauty.

No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread.

We are all born for love. It is the principle of existence, and its only end.

He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.

Hell's afloat in lover's tears.

Life may change, but it may fly not;
Hope may vanish, but can die not;
Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;
Love replused - but it returneth Percy B.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Desire, even in its wildest tantrums, can neither persuade me it is love nor stop me from wishing it were. W. H.

Love is know the pain of too much tenderness.

O generations of men, how I count you as equal with those who live not at all!

Surely your gladness need not be the less for the thought that you will one day see a brighter dawn than this - when lovelier sights will meet your eyes than any waving trees or rippling waters - when angel-hands shall undrawn your curtains, and sweeter tones than ever loving Mother breathed shall wake you to a new and glorious day - and when all the sadness, and the sin, that darkened life on this little earth, shall be forgotten like the dreams of a night that is past!

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die no soul will pity me: And wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself?

Nay, tempt me not to love again: There was a time when love was sweet; Dear Nea! had I known thee then, our souls had not been slow to meet! But oh! this weary heart hath run So many a time the rounds of pain, Not even for thee, thou lovely one! Would I endure such pangs again?

Lady you bereft me of all words, Only my blood speaks to you in my veins, and there is such confusion in my powers.

The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.

O tyrant love, to what do you not drive the hearts of men.

But love is blind and lovers cannot see The pretty follies that themselves commit for if they could, Cupid himself would blush to see me thus transformed to a boy.

The tradition of all the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living.

The world is not respectable; it is mortal, tormented, confused, deluded forever; but it is shot through with beauty, with love, with glints of courage and laughter; and in these, the spirit blooms timidly, and struggles to the light amid the thorns.