LOVE

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination

nor both together go to the making of genius.

Love, Love, Love, that is the soul of genius.

 

For those who passionately love,

The whole world seems to smile.

                        … David Myers

 

A fool in love makes no sense to me,

I only think you are a fool if you don’t love.

                        …… Sigmund Freud

 

If you love someone, set them free.

If they come back they’re yours;

If they don’t they never were.

......Richard Bach

We never hopelessly unhappy

as when we lose love.

                        ….. Sigmund Freud

 

It is better to have loved and lost,

Than never to have loved at all..

                                .... Alfred Tennyson

 

Love is always about open arms,

If you close your arms around love,

You will be left holding only yourself.

 

The heart wants what it wants;

There is no logic to these things.

                        ....Woody Allen

 

Love is composed of single soul

Inhabitating two or many bodies.  

 

In dreams and in love..

There are no impossibilities.

 

You fall in love with Personality

But you live with Character.

 

When you have nothing left but love,

Then for the first time you become

aware that love is enough.

                        … C. S. Lewis

 

In the arithmetic of love,

One plus one equals to everything and

Two minus one equals to nothing.

                        …. Mingnon Me Laughin

 

If you love life..

Life will love you back.

                        …. Norman Vincent Peale

 

When one man loves the one women and the one women loves the one man, the very angles leave heaven and come and sit that house and sing for joy.

                                                                        ... Brahma

 

Two person who love each other are in a place

 more holy that the interior of a church.

... William Lyon Phelps

 

THE most wonderful of all things in life, I believe, is the discovery of another human being with whom one’s relationship has a glowing depth, beauty, and joy as the time increases. The inner progressiveness of love between two human being is the most marvellous thing, it cannot be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of Divine accident.

                                                        .... Sir Hugh Walpole

 

Robert Browning had persuaded Elizabeth Barrett to leave her invalid’s couch and elope with him, had brought her to this gentle climate for her health. And climate and love had worked their magic charm. She was still frail and delicate, but she was not an invalid now! She was able to move about, to see the world, to be a true wife and companion to the man she so admired, she so adored.

“how do I love thee?” Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach...”

She thought of these lines from a sonnet she had written when Robert browning came courting her in Wimpole Street, in London. She was ill then, nervous and distraught – completely dominated by a tyrannical father who had forbidden all his children to marry. But with unfailing devotion, Robert browning had continued to visit her, to keep her room filled with flowers, to tell her of his love and beg her to marry him.

During the period of emotional strain and indecision, torn between love for Robert Browning and fear of her father’s displeasure, Elizabeth Barrett wrote a sequence of love sonnets. She wrote them in secret, intending them for no eyes but her own.

“but I will show them to him now,” she thought, “I will show them to him now, and they will tell him how much I love him”

And so, one sunny day in Italy, one enchanted autumn afternoon, Robert Browning read his wife’s secret love sonnets for the first time. He was profoundly moved be their beauty and power, recognising the unmistakable quality of their genius. They were, he declared, “the finest sonnets since Shakespeare!”

She was pleased as a child be his praise- though she well knew his love wrapped his judgement, that Wordsworth’s incomparable sonnets far surpassed any she had written or was ever likely to write. Still she liked to hear his praise, liked to hear him say she was the finest women poet England had produced.

‘Which do you like best?’  she asked him shyly, knowing these sonnets revealed her innermost thoughts and feelings.

“I liked them all,” he told her. “But there’s one . . . ‘How Do I Love Thee?'   Let me read that one again.”

She was delighted. “that is my favourite too, Robert!”

 

“How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.

I love you to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death. “