When first we met we did not guess that love would prove so hard a master.
Love is like a card trick. After you know how it works, it's no fun any more.
Love is a rose but you better not pick it. It only grows when it's on the vine.
If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband's murder.

When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out.
Love is the wine of existence.
Nothing is so sensitive as love-and the greater, the more sensitive. It cannot endure indifference. It needs to be wanted. Like a lamp, it needs to be fed from out of the oil of another's heart, or its flame burns low.
Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.
Love is an exploding cigar which we willingly smoke.
Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.