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.
Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.
Love is like a virus. It can happen to anybody at any time.
Love is a net that catches hearts like fish.
Love, like truth, is the unassailable defense.
Love is the white light of emotion.
To love someone is to see a miracle invisible to others.