Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.

As Plato sometimes speaks of the divine love, it arises not out of indigency, as created love does, but out of fullness and redundancy; it is an overflowing fountain, and that love which descends upon created being is a free efflux from the almighty source of love; and it is well pleasing to him that those creatures which he hath made should partake of it.

The root of the matter… the thing I mean… is love, Christian love, or compassion. If you feel this, you have a motive for existence, a guide for action, a reason for courage, an imperative necessity for intellectual honesty.

Love can neither be bought or sold, its only price is love.

What's so remarkable about Love at first sight? It's when people have been looking at each other for years that it becomes remarkable.

Oh, Jacques, we're used to each other, we're a pair of captive hawks caught in the same cage, and so we've grown used to each other. That's what passes for love at this dim, shadowy end of the Camino Real.

Blue eyes say, Love me or I die; black eyes say, Love me or I kill thee.

Love bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Love is a state in which a man sees things most decidedly as the are not.

It is easier to guard a sack full of fleas than a girl in love.