Love is a feeling that comes into our hearts of our own choice for neither force nor harshness can limit the heart's freedom.
It may be an infinitely less evil to murder a man than to refuse to forgive him. The former may be the act of a moment of passion: the latter is the heart’s choice.
The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
I'm free to give my love, but you're not the one I'm thinking of.
There's a million reasons why I should give you up. But the heart wants what it wants.
You cannot tell your heart what it wants. Your heart will tell you
The fate of your heart is your choice and no one else gets a vote
By unnerving definition, anything that the heart has chosen for its own mysterious reasons it can always unchoose later—again, for its own mysterious reasons.
The heart makes its choices without weighing the consequences. It doesn't look ahead to the lonely nights that follow.
That of all people, it should be him; that took her aback. That the heart should settle on somebody like him; that surprised her. But she was so certain about it, so certain.
