Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the cruelest is the one called love.

Ah, cruel 'tis to love,
And cruel not to love,
But cruelest of all
To love and love in vain.

Of all the bright cruel lies they tell you, the crudest is the one called love.

The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable,
Is that which rages in the place of dearest love.

Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love. It is a remarkable process. It is far more terrible than anything I have ever read about it, more terrible than anything I will ever be able to say.

Divorce is the second worst event in a person’s life. The worst event, of course, is marriage.

Justice could be cruel, and crueler yet necessity, but mercy was the cruelest thing of all.

Love is the most dangerous thing in the world.

The tragedy of love is not death or separation. How long do you think it would have been before one or other of them ceased to care? Oh, it is dreadfully bitter to look at a woman whom you have loved with all your heart and soul, so that you felt you could not bear to let her out of your sight, and realize that you would not mind if you never saw her again. The tragedy of love is indifference.

"Ah!" he said. "Love, that terrible thing!"

Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.

Of all weapons, love is the most deadly and devastating, and few there be who dare trust their fate in its hands.

Love is the most difficult and dangerous form of courage. Courage is the most desperate, admirable and noble kind of love.

For of all the miseries attaching to miserable love, the worst is the misery of thinking that the passion which is the cause of them all may cease.