These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, and the stars through his soul.
You are the love that become Lord of my soul.
Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
Either you have hopes of obtaining Charlotte, or you have none. Well, in the first case, pursue your course, and press on to the fulfilment of your wishes. In the second, be a man, and shake off a miserable passion, which will enervate and destroy you.
And if I thought I couldn't fall in love with you twice, I was stupid. Not twice, but ten, a hundred, a thousand! We only had to find our balance.
You're the only one I ever loved and the only one I could ever love.
It's a disinterested love: Tereza wants nothing from Karenin. She doesn't even want love. She never put to herself those questions that torture human couples: does he love me? Has he ever loved anyone else more than me? Does he love me more than I love him? Maybe all these questions aimed at love, that measure it, that investigate it, that examine it, that interrogate it, can even destroy it at birth. Maybe we're not capable of loving because we want to be loved, meaning that we want something (love) from the other intead of getting closer to him unpretensiously and wanting only their presence.
You can't teach love, but it's the most important thing to teach.
I loved your smile, but I preferred mine.
Because there was something, between those two, something that in reality had to be a secret, or something like that. So it was hard understanding what they told each other and how they lived, and how they were. You could've raked your brains trying to give a sense to some of their gestures. And you could've asked yourself why for years and years. The only thing that often appeared evident, actually almost always, and maybe forever, the only thing was that in what they did and in what they said there was something - so to speak - of beautiful.