Charles Dickens Quotes on Love (14 Quotes)

Constancy in love is a good thing; but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort.

Love her, love her, love her! If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces - and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper - love her, love her, love her!

I love little childrenand it is not a slight thing when they, who are fresh from God, love us.

And the voices in the waves are always whispering to Florence, in their ceaseless murmuring, of love - of love, eternal and illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end of time, but ranging still, beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far away

She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a Sylph, I don't know what she was - anything that no one ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was no pausing on the brink no looking down, or looking back I was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her.

In love of home, the love of country has its rise.

Love, however, is very materially assisted by a warm and active imagination which has a long memory, and will thrive, for a considerable time, on very slight and sparing food.

Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to the growth of love, but they are, very often, its powerful auxiliaries.

Love is in all things a most wonderful teacher . . .

If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not merely over head and ears in love with her, but I was saturated through and through. Enough love might have been wrung out of me, metaphorically speaking, to drown anybody in and yet there would have remained enough within me, and all over me, to pervade my entire existence.

If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart, to-night, 'I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the gratitude or respect, of no human creature I have won myself a tender place in no regard I have done nothing good or serviceable to be remembered by' your seventy-eight years would be seventy-eight heavy curses would they not

Things that never die The pure, the bright, the beautiful That stirred our hearts in youth, The impulses to wordless prayer, The streams of love and truth, The longing after something lost, The spirits yearning cry, The striving after better hopes These things can never die. The timid hand stretched forth to aid A brother in his need A kindly word in griefs dark hour That proves a friend indeed The plea for mercy softly breathed, When justice threatens high, The sorrow of a contrite heart These things shall never die. Let nothing pass, for every hand Must find some work to do, Lose not a chance to waken love Be firm and just and true. So shall a light that cannot fade Beam on thee from on high, And angel voices say to thee 'These things shall never die.'

One of these flaws was, that having been long taught by his father to over-reach everybody he had imperceptibly acquired a love of over-reaching that venerable monitor himself. The other, that from his early habits of considering everything as a question of property, he had gradually come to look, with impatience, on his parent as a certain amount of personal estate, which had no right whatever to be going at large, but ought to be secured in that particular description of iron safe which is commonly called a coffin, and banked in the grave.

Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, is a vigilant watchman . . .