In everyone there sleeps. A sense of life lived according to love. To some it means the difference they could make. By loving others, but across most it sweeps. As all they might have done had they been loved. That nothing cures.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
We do not know what love is. We know the symptoms of it, the pleasure, the pain, the fear, the anxiety and so on. We try to solve the symptoms, which becomes a wandering in darkness. We spend our days and nights in this, and it is soon over in death.
Love is the substance of all life. Everything is connected in love, absolutely everything.
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
Now more than ever, I have learned that, when people die, they truly do live throughout those who love them.
Life is to be fortified by many friendships. To love and to be loved is the greatest happiness of existence.
Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another.
Love is the great miracle cure. Loving ourselves works miracles in our lives.
He did not know what love was. And he did not know what good it was. But he knew he carried it around with him, a scabrous spot of rot, of contagion, for which there was no cure.
People kill for love. They die for love.
What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives.