turbulent love Quotes

I'd been staying at the Holiday Inn with my girlfriend, honestly the most beautiful woman I'd ever known, for three days under a phony name, shooting heroin. We made love in the bed, ate steaks at the restaurant, shot up in the john, puked, cried, accused one another, begged of one another, forgave, promised, and carried one another to heaven.

I have a soft spot for musicians. If a man could ride this roller coaster with me and come out alive, then I guess we'd deserve each other's company.

Sometimes love is calm and easy and sometimes it's just plain dirty.

The tamer my love, the farther away it is from love. In fierceness, in heat, in longing, in risk, I find something of love's nature. In my desire for you, I burn at the right temperature to walk through love's fire. So when you ask me why I cannot love you more calmly, I answer that to love you calmly is not to love you at all.

Eros harrows my heart: wild gales sweeping desolate mountains, uprooting oaks.

It was like any other relationship, there was jealousy on both sides, there were split-ups and reconciliations. There were also fragmented moments of great peace and beauty. I often tried to get away from her and she tried to get away from me but it was difficult: Cupid, in his strange way, was really there.

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.

The course of true love never did run smooth.

This thing called love, it cries like a baby in a cradle all night. It swings, it jives, it shakes all over like a jelly fish. I kinda like it.

Next to coming to a good understanding with a new mistress, I love a quarrel with an old one.

Love affair. Doesn't that sound so middle-aged? And also ill-fated. Like ill-fated is an understood prefix to love affair. Well, ill-fated is fine, as long as it's a meaty and fraught ill-fated love affair, not a pale and insipid one.

She looked at me like I was crazy. Most of my lovers do, and that's partly why they love me, and partly why they leave

She wears trouble like a crown. If she ever falls in love, she’ll fall like a comet, burning the sky as she goes.

I loved you. I was a pentapod monster, but I loved you. I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais!

You love the way it makes me feel when I can't catch my breath Like walkin' on a high wire, Lord, it scares me half to death You're always high above me and I'm always fallin' down Our loves just a circus baby, and I'm just the clown

Two human beings anchored to one another are like two ships shaken by waves; their carcases collide with one another and creak.

What if we just acknowledged that we have a bad relationship, and we stuck it out, anyway? What if we admitted that we make each other nuts, we fight constantly and hardly ever have sex, but we can't live without each other, so we deal with it? And then we could spend our lives together - in misery, but happy to not be apart.

My love life is like everyone else's - great, and then terrible.

She knew this man's smile, his gentle ways of love, but not his godlike fury in the storm. She might snare him in a fragile net of music, love and flowers, but, at each departure, he would break forth without, it seemed to her, the least regret.

They say the path of true love never runs smooth. Well, Luke and my true love's path didn't run at all, it limped along in new boots that were chafing its heels. Blistered and cut, red and raw, every hopping, lopsided step, a little slice of agony.

Lots of people feel more alive when they're riding a roller-coaster relationship. But while this might be fun for a while, it can't possibly last.

That love is a conflict seems to me obvious and natural. There isn't a single worthwhile work in world literature based on love that is only about the conquest of happiness, the effort to arrive at what we call love. It's the struggle that has always interested those who produce works of art - literature, cinema or poetry.

For me, romance is only 'true' when there are two sides to it. I think to have true romance you have to have the moments where you feel alone and you're crying and you feel like your heart's about to break... as well as the moments where you're floating through this orgasmic dream state.

Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care; Love leads us upward, to the mountain height, And, like an angel, stands beside us there; Then thrusts us, demon-like, in some abyss: Where, in the darkness of despair, we grope, Till, suddenly, Love greets us with a kiss And guides us back to flowery fields of hope.

I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.