If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
William Butler YeatsRead
I have nothing more to give you than my heart. Spanish saying Hearts are not to be had as a gift hearts are to be earned.
Interpretation
True love and affection cannot be freely given; they must be earned over time through trust and commitment.
This quote emphasizes the value of heartfelt connections in relationships. It suggests that while one can offer love, genuine affection is something that needs to be nurtured and earned through mutual respect and effort, rather than simply being given away without consideration.
In practice
During a wedding toast to emphasize the importance of working on relationships.
If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
She worries over the way her love for me comes and goes, appears and disappears. She doubts its reality simply because it isn't as steadily pleasurable as a kitten. God knows it is sad. The human voice conspires to desecrate everything on earth.
Of all the nonsense written about love, none is more absurd than the notion that ideal love is selfless. To love is to see myself in you and to wish to celebrate myself with you. What I love is the embodiment of my values in another person. Love is an act of self-assertion, self-expression and a celebration of being alive.
Or had she always loved him? It's likely. Restricted as she was from speaking, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drag her hand across and pull her over. It didn't matter where. Her mouth, her neck, her cheek. Her skin was empty for it, waiting.
If there were no Frenchwomen, life wouldn't be worth living.
O what a heaven is love! O what a hell!
βGod,β she cried, βwhat is love? Man seeking his own head? The human head, so rented by misery that even the teeth weigh! She couldn't tell me the truth because she had never planned it; her life was a continual accident, and how can you be prepared for that? Everything we can't bear in this world, some day we find in one person, and love it all at once.β
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