Quotes on Literary Love

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness — and call it love — true love.

You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.

Explain! Tell a man to explain how he dropped into hell! Explain my preference! I never had a PREFERENCE for her, any more than I have a preference for breathing. No other woman exists by the side of her. I would rather touch her hand if it were dead, than I would touch any other woman's living.

As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.

Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.

Then he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

The pieces I am, she gather them and gave them back to me in all the right order.

In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further. There is no other pearl to be found in the dark folds of life.

He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.

Her life with others no longer interests him. He wants only her stalking beauty, her theatre of expressions. He wants the minute secret reflection between them, the depth of field minimal, their foreignness intimate like two pages of a closed book.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star.