Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
Love is the poetry of the senses.
Love is a hole in the heart.
Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.
Love is a portion of the soul itself, and it is of the same nature as the celestial breathing of the atmosphere of paradise.
Love is often the fruit of marriage.
Love is the big booming beat which covers up the noise of hate.
Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.
Love is the flower you've got to let grow.