First love is unrequited ultimately because it’s so huge.It’s such an act of giving and it requires so much back that it can never be given back. It’s like an atom bomb. It’s like… It’s all the energy of who you are and who you want to be and what you love and what you hope to be explodes. It is impossible for a single... human being to offer that back to you in a mutual way.

A man is lucky if he is the first love of a woman. A woman is lucky if she is the last love of a man.

First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of curiosity.

Men always want to be a woman’s first love. That is their clumsy vanity. We women have a more subtle instinct about these things. What (women) like is to be a man’s last romance.

No, this trick won't work... How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?

The advantage of love at first sight is that it delays a second sight.

For a lot of people, their first love is what they'll always remember. For me it's always been the first hate, and I think that hatred, though it provides often rather junky energy, is a terrific way of getting you out of bed in the morning and keeping you going. If you don't let it get out of hand, it can be canalized into writing. In this country where people love to be nonjudgmental when they can be, which translates as, on the whole, lenient, there are an awful lot of bubble reputations floating around that one wouldn't be doing one's job if one didn't itch to prick.

<b>First Love</b>

I ne’er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale,
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start — They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter’s choice?
Is love’s bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more.

«اولین عشق»
یه اسم وقیحانه و تلخ! معنیش اینه که عشقهای دیگری هم بعد از آن می آید. حتی نیشخند حکیمانۀ دانندۀ گوینده هم از لای آن پیداست. اما اشتباه می کنن. هیچ کس در عمرش دو بار عاشق نشده. عشق دوم و سوم و...!!! تنها معنیش اینه که «هیچ معنی ای نداره.» رفت و آمده، خفت و خیزه. حتما زندگیهایی هست که جز همین خفت و خیز نیست

The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.

I'm sure there is such a thing as love at first sight, although I suspect many people recall it more in retrospect than experience it in their initial encounter. But I do believe in seeing someone in a different light for a first time, suddenly realizing that this person you've been passing in the hall for months is someone you might be prepared to share your life with, even though the previous day you'd barely given them a thought, or at least a conscious one.

You see the first thing we love is a scene. For love at first sight requires the very sign of its suddenness; and of all things, it is the scene which seems to be seen best for the first time: a curtain parts and what had not yet ever been seen is devoured by the eyes: the scene consecrates the object I am going to love. The context is the constellation of elements, harmoniously arranged that encompass the experience of the amorous subject...

Love at first sight is always spoken in the past tense. The scene is perfectly adapted to this temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, it is already a memory (the nature of a photograph is not to represent but to memorialize)... this scene has all the magnificence of an accident: I cannot get over having had this good fortune: to meet what matches my desire.

The gesture of the amorous embrace seems to fulfill, for a time, the subject's dream of total union with the loved being: The longing for consummation with the other... In this moment, everything is suspended: time, law, prohibition: nothing is exhausted, nothing is wanted: all desires are abolished, for they seem definitively fulfilled... A moment of affirmation; for a certain time, though a finite one, a <i>deranged</i> interval, something has been successful: I have been fulfilled (all my desires abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction).

ما الحب الأول إلا تدريب ينتفع به ذوو الحظ من الواصلين

...some claim that one is only ever really in love once in a lifetime, others that it is better the second time around, others that the first time is the only genuine manifestation, still others that they fall in love every week or even every day.