Love Pages >> Valentines Day 2010 >>

Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds.
Shakespeare

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Love is an irresistable desire to be irrestibly desired.
Robert Frost

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When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out.
Elizabeth Bowen (1899-1973)

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Love is a friendship set to music.
E. Joseph Cossman

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Soul meets soul on lover’s lips.
Percy Bysshe Shelly

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I love you – those three words have my life in them.
Alexandrea to Nicholas III

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Love is a canvas furnished by natuer nad embroidered by imagination.
Voltire

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Being in love is what makes working all week bearable. It makes cruising with your windows rolled down feel like you’re riding in a convertible. It makes you dance to the rythm of the copy machine and makes Friday night really feel like THE WEEKEND.”
Julie Hintz

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Like the measles, love is the most dangerous when it comes late in life.
Lord Byron

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My wife dresses to kill. She cooks the same way and that’s why I love her
Henry Youngman

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“Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit.”
“Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.”
~Kahlil Gibran on love

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The things that people in love do to each other they remember, and if they stay together it’s not because they forget, it’s because they forgive.”
from the movie, “Indecent Proposal”

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And my favorite description of love is from the movie Captain Corelli’s Mandolin:

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”
-St. Augustine