Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Quotes

I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't.

I stayed there loving you, though the love made me, not sad but I guess melancholy, for a reason I couldn’t point to.

I was lonelier than I should be, for a woman in love, or half in love.

I dropped my phone on the floor and let the pain assail me. I'd given my heart away to someone who didn't want it. Even knowing that, I didn't regret it. I just wanted him to want me. I just wanted him to love me too.

I had always been in love with him. I counted the lashes of each closed eye. He had been my almost, my might have been, and I did not want to leave him

There's a pleasure to loving someone even when you know there's no chance in them loving you back. The pain I felt let me know I was still alive.

Few other griefs amid the ill chances of this world have more bitterness and shame for a man's heart than to behold the love of a lady so fair and brave that cannot be returned.

Do you know what it's like to love and be alone?

I think one of the most poignant things is unrequited love and loneliness.

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

As you stopped to say hello, oh, you wished me well, you couldn't tell that I'd been crying over you.

Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad; his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.

It is sad not to love, but it is much sadder not to be able to love.

We were both in love with him. I fell out of love with him, but he didn't.

Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.

Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.

Love becomes logically true when lost but still sought from the same source.

Unrequited love is always a great thing.

Maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong, but tonight you're on my mind, so you never know.

There's so many other things to write about than unrequited love.

The great thing about unrequited love is it's the only kind that lasts.

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.

Then you think that one can keep a hopeless love in one's heart for so long as that?...And that life can breathe upon it every day, without extinguishing it?

She wondered whether there would ever come an hour in her life when she didn't think of him -- didn't speak to him in her head, didn't relive every moment they'd been together, didn't long for his voice and his hands and his love. She had never dreamed of what it would feel like to love someone so much; of all the things that had astonished her in her adventures, that was what astonished her the most. She thought the tenderness it left in her heart was like a bruise that would never go away, but she would cherish it forever.

But I think she would have been happy with Fabrice,' I said. 'He was the great love of her life, you know.' Oh, dulling,' said my mother, sadly. 'One always thinks that. Every, every time.