Quotes in category: “Love - Misc”:

Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it around carefully with little hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable. 

His words were like heaven in my hurricane.

You've got to risk love. It doesn't mean that you're never going to get hurt but the pain you feel will never compare to the regret that comes from walking away from love.

One day you fall for this boy and he touches you with his fingers and burns holes in your skin with his mouth and it hurts when you look at him and it hurts when you don't, it feels like someone's cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.

You've got my heart tied to a string. Everything I feel is your doing.

But they'd loved each other. With the wisdom of time and passing of years, she knew that. She knew, too, that love didn't evaporate. It faded, perhaps, lost its weight like bones left out in the sun, but it didn't go away. 

I'd rather choose to fall in love and be hurt. Sometimes I can't even sleep because I love someone so much. And there's always sadness in our lives. It's that sad feeling that keeps us going. Because if we can overcome that sadness, we can hope for happiness in the future. 

You can never really know someone completely. That’s why it’s the most terrifying thing in the world, really—taking someone on faith, hoping they’ll take you on faith too. It’s such a precarious balance, It’s a wonder we do it at all. And yet.... 

She believed in dreams, alright, but she also believed in doing something about them. When Prince Charming didn’t come along, she went over to the palace and got him.

History can't be hidden. Throw in any exes who've had a past together into a room, and you'll notice. Friction can't be hidden. Sometimes people are just meant to be.

But love wasn't about sacrifice, and it wasn't abut falling short of someone's expectations. By definition, love made you better than good enough; it redefined perfection to include your traits, instead of excluding them.

“I’ve told you the story of how your dad and I met, right?’
‘Only a couple dozen times.’
‘But do you remember?’
‘Of course I remember,’ I said. ‘You saw him and you left the bathroom and you knew you had to be with him. You just knew. From that moment on. It would be the two of you.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘What I knew was that if I walked out of the bathroom and said good-bye to him, I would be fine. I would go to the play and meet someone else—if not that afternoon, then another afternoon—and I’d have an entirely different life. I’d be married to this new person or I wouldn’t. or I’d rekindle my romance with my first boyfriend, Neiman Mortimar, who happens to be the biggest distributor of women’s prom dresses anywhere in the Northeast, now. And I’d have these big, wonderful Shabbat dinners. And I’d like my mother-in-law very, very much…What happened the day I met your father,’ she said, ‘is that I learned you have to choose. For better or for worse. You have to choose what your life is going to look like.’
I tried to swallow, tried to think of what I wanted to say, what I was really thinking. ‘I just don’t feel like I have good choices yet,’ I said. ‘It makes it hard to give up the old ones.’
She waved me off. ‘Well, you’re behind all that anyway,’ she said. ‘You’re still stuck on the same part you were stuck on at seven.’
‘What part is that?’
‘The part where you need to choose among the choices that are there, and not the ones that aren’t anymore. At least not how you need them to be. You’re still stuck on some imaginary idea you have of how it could have been. You need to think about how it is now. And how you want it to be.”

There is only one real tragedy in a woman's life. 
The fact that her past is always her lover, 
and her future invariably her husband.

Proximity bred familiarity, and familiarity bred comfort.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you didn't even have a name for.

It’s weird that whatever else is on your mind, whether it’s the downfall of global economics or terrible environmental troubles, the thing that always gets you most is when you fancy someone.

Love was an idea. Nothing more or less. If you lost the idea, if you somehow forgot it, the person you loved became a stranger. She thought of all those movies about amnesiacs where they don't even know their own spouse. Love lives in the memory. It can be forgotten.... But it can also be remembered.

Kisses open doors, I've noticed. That one gesture can unlock secrets, ease open feelings. It can't be prevented--these kisses just are. It's how they work. They break into basements you never knew you had.

People always say that, when you love someone, nothing in the world matters. But that's not true, is it? You know, and I know, that when you love someone, everything in the world matters a little bit more.

I don't think people are meant to be by themselves. That's why if you actually find someone you care about, it's important to let go of the little things, even if you can't let go all the way. Because nothing sucks more then feeling all alone, no matter how many people are around you.

I was addicted to saying things and having them matter to someone

Love is not going anywhere. When it is time, you will find someone you love.

Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope 

I got a lecture about behavior, and how if we wanted boys to be gentlemen we should act like ladies, which was idiotic because we didn't want the boys to be gentlemen. We wanted them to think we're pretty and ask us to dance and hold our hands, and maybe kiss us in the corner and send us clever instant messages.

I close my eyes, inhale, and feel a rush of heat and energy that takes my breath away. It is the feeling of wanting something so much that it borders on an actual need, and the power and urgency of this need overwhelms me.