Love is a kind of warfare.
Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.
This is love: the flowering of love is meditation.
Pure love is a willingness to give without a thought of receiving anything in return.
Love is an adventure and a conquest. It survives and develops, like the universe itself, only by perpetual discovery.
Have you not noticed that love is silence? It may be while holding the hand of another, or looking lovingly at a child, or taking in the beauty of an evening. Love has no past or future, and so it is with this extraordinary state of silence.
Love is not in our choice but in our fate.
Love is a thing that is full of cares and fears.
Love is a positive, symbiotic, reciprocal flow between two or more entities.
The beginning of love is a horror of emptiness.