Francois de La Rochefoucauld Quotes

Love possesses not nor will it be possessed, for love is sufficient unto love.

Only the broken-hearted know the truth about love.

In life, there are no perfect affections.

When you're away, I'm restless, lonely, Wretched, bored, dejected; only here's the rub, my darling dear, I feel the same when you're near.

I have a taste for a kind of melancholy and for being an absolute victim of love.

We fall in love more deeply when we're unhappy.

What interests me is whatever it is that allows the heart to continue to yearn for something the intelligence knows is impossible to have: a lost love, a shelter from life's blows, the return of a time past, even a connection to the dead.

I have a good imagination. Look, I know what it feels like to have a broken heart. I know what it feels like to feel something for somebody. I'm just too weird to be in a relationship.

I want affection and tenderness desperately, but there's something in me that prevents me from handing it out.

I remember learning as a kid that love meant loneliness and confusion.

The heart wants what it wants, and you know, if you're not careful, you can find yourself in a situation where you give your heart away, and it can get broken.

What could he mean by speaking so, as if I were always thinking that he cared for me, when I know he does not; he cannot. ... But I won't care for him. I surely am mistress enough of myself to control this wild, strange, miserable feeling

I’ve been trying so hard not to think his name, not to even breathe the idea of him

Afraid of decision, I buried my finer feelings in the depths of my heart and they died there.

Compassionate love may be strong. It sobs, it burns, then it wipes away its tears – and it does nothing.

I can't do that to myself...

There are many ways that we hurt ourselves when we don't like who we are.

Thus with my lips have I denounced you, while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names. It was love lashed by its own self that spoke. It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust. It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop, while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness.

Perhaps love's greatest gift--that it is indeed unconditional--is also its greatest curse.

If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted.

I know I get cold, cause I can't leave things well alone. Understand I'm accident prone. Me, I get free every night the moon is mine. But when the morning comes don't say you love me, don't say you need me. I really don't think that's fair.

How could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home?

There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.

There's no misery in not being loved, only in not loving.