Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.

Love, like a sense of humor, is now claimed by everyone even though Love, like a sense of humor, is rather more rare than not, and to most of us poor muddlers unbearable at full strength.

Love has features which pierce all hearts, he wears a bandage which conceals the faults of those beloved. He has wings, he comes quickly and flies away the same.

Love has various lodgings; the same word does not always signify the same thing.

Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare.

Each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!

Love is unworldly and nothing comes of it but love.

Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.

You must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

A pity beyond all telling Is in the heart of love.