I have a very strong feeling that the opposite of love is not hate – it’s apathy. It’s not giving a damn.
Love is always bestowed as a gift – freely, willingly and without expectation. We don’t love to be loved; we love to love.
Love is always open arms. If you close your arms about love you will find that you are left holding only yourself.
Love is life. And if you miss love, you miss life.
Love can never grow old. Locks may lose their brown and gold. Cheeks may fade and hollow grow. But the hearts that love will know, never winter’s frost and chill, summer’s warmth is in them still.
Perfect love is rare indeed – for to be a lover will require that you continually have the subtlety of the very wise, the flexibility of the child, the sensitivity of the artist, the understanding of the philosopher, the acceptance of the saint, the tolerance of the scholar and the fortitude of the certain.
It is difficult for some people to accept that love is a choice. This seems to run counter to the generally accepted theory of romantic love which expounds that love is inborn and as such requires no more than to accept it.
Love is not some complex, mystical abstraction. It is something accessible and human that we learn through our everyday experience, as often at times of failure as in moments of ecstasy.
Life is uncharted territory. It reveals its story one moment at a time.
Risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The most human thing we have to do in life is is to learn to speak our honest convictions and feelings and live with the consequences. This is the first requirment of love, and it makes us vulnerable to other people who may ridicule us. But our vulnerability is the only thing we can give to other people.
Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time… It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.
What we call the secret of happiness is no more a secret than our willingness to choose life.