Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Love is something that grows, that comes from nourishment; it builds.
Love is a serious mental disease.
Love is like a beautiful flower which I may not touch, but whose fragrance makes the garden a place of delight just the same.
Love is the capacity to take care, to protect, to nourish.
Love is a positive, symbiotic, reciprocal flow between two or more entities.
Love is a sacred reserve of energy; it is like the blood of spiritual evolution.
Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration.
Love is the flower you've got to let grow.
The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.