Those whose suffering is due to love are, as we say of certain invalids, their own physicians.

We are ordinarily so indifferent to people that when we have invested one of them with the possibility of giving us joy, or suffering, it seems as if he must belong to some other universe, he is imbued with poetry.

A god could hardly love and be wise.

Love, like a tear, rises in the eye and falls upon the breast.

Love is not dumb. The heart speaks many ways.

None love, but they who wish to love.

The man who has never made a fool of himself in love will never be wise in love.

There is need of variety in sex, but not in love.

Beyond the wounds of the child and the scars of the man, there is something in the heart of love itself that makes love pathetic.

For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.