It was the kind of love that, sooner or later, cornered you into a choice: either you tore free or you stayed and withstood its rigor even as it squeezed you into something smaller than yourself.

If you love a flower, don’t pick it up. Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.

If you love a flower, don’t pick it up.
Because if you pick it up it dies and it ceases to be what you love.
So if you love a flower, let it be.
Love is not about possession.
Love is about appreciation.

We make choices and we look at them. Love is a choice. You love somebody because you choose to do so after the passion’s gone, after the fire’s burned out or consumed you and left you less than you were before.

Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough
with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

Being in love is like being lit on fire and having your loved one morph into a marshmallow as she runs to embrace you. But not being in love feels so much worse, possibly like being a tax collector. Actually, nothing compares to the lowliness of a tax collector.

Love is like the measles; we all have to go through it. Also like the measles, we take it only once. One never need be afraid of catching it a second time.

Love is a constant interrogation.

but love is a stubborn thing to conquer. When you think you've killed it, it's liable to bob up again as strong as ever.