Love is being stupid together.

To love makes one solitary.

The arrogance of wanting to be loved had emerged only now it was unreciprocated — I was left alone with my desire, defenseless, beyond the law, shockingly crude in my demands: Love me! And for what reason? I had only the usual paltry, insufficient excuse: Because I love you . .

Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly.

All passions make us commit some faults, love alone makes us ridiculous.

anyone who expects love to be sensible has perhaps never loved.

One plus love equals lonely.

My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you – I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again – my Life seems to stop there – I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving – I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you … I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion – I have shudder’d at it – I shudder no more – I could be martyr’d for my Religion – Love is my religion – I could die for that – I could die for you.

The wise are wise only because they love. And the foolish are foolish only because they think they can understand love.

She said love was useless, because it led you into dumb exchanges in which you gave too much away, and then you got bitter and mean.

To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost.

The few love affairs which had come my way had been rather silly and sordid. They had not revealed the possibilities of love; in fact I had thought it a somewhat overrated pleasure, a brief and brutal blindness with boredom and disgust hard on its heels.

Yes,” said Mamma, “this is the worst of life, that love does not give us common sense but is a sure way of losing it. We love people, and we say that we are going to do more for them than friendship, but it makes such fools of us that we do far less, indeed sometimes what we do could be mistaken for the work of hatred.

Pierre's insanity consisted in the face that he did not wait, as before, for personal reasons, which he called people's merits, in order to love them, but love overflowed his heart, and loving people without reason, he discovered the unquestionable reasons for which it was worth loving them.