Love Quotes — page 90

Grieve not the Christ of God, who redeems us; and remember that we grieve Him most when we will not let Him pour His love upon us, but turn a sullen, unresponsive unbelief towards His pleading grace, as some glacier shuts out the sunshine …

But my love is the cordial of souls, Teaching by passion what perfection is, In whose fix'd beauties shine the sacred scroll, And long-lost records of your human bliss, Spirit to flesh, and soul to spirit giving, Love flows not from my …

Thus love makes fools of all of us, big and little

It is something gained when the colored man in any form can appear before a white audience

'Tis strange with how much power and pride The softness is of love allied; How much of power to force the breast To be in outward show at rest,— How much of pride that never eye May look upon its agony!

To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, All is the purlieu of the god of love.

All this was to make us glad and merry in love.

Never seek to tell thy love Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart;

Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter; The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

Our love was so vast that it filled the heavens up: But the soft white form I held was an empty cup, When the willows called me back to earth with their sigh, And we moved as shades through the deep that was you and I.

Civilisation can never sustain itself upon cannibalism of any form. For that by which alone man is true can only be nourished by love and justice.

Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, love's firmament.

And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost.

I loved my country, and I hated him.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed;

A cheerful life is what the Muses love, A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

I would rather have your friendship than the love of any other woman in the world!

She hath wasted with fire thine high places, She hath hidden and marred and made sad The fair limbs of the Loves, the fair faces Of gods that were goodly and glad. She slays, and her hands are not bloody; She moves as a moon in the wane,

Lingering he raised his latch at eve, Though tired in heart and limb: He loved no other place, and yet Home was no home to him.

Falsehood is so easy, truth so difficult.

Love lieth deep; Love dwells not in lip-depths.

Straightway I was ’ware, So weeping, how a mystic shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair And a voice said in mastery while I strove... "Guess now who holds thee?"—"Death", I said. But, there, The silver answer rang... …

As the visit of one we love makes the whole day pleasant, so is it illumined and made fair by a brave and beautiful thought.

So love is Lord of all the world by right.