Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.
Catalog
Quotes tagged ‘First Love’
If we'd never met, I think I would have known my life wasn't complete. And I would have wandered the world in search of you, even if I didn't know who I was looking for.
She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened. Or even when it started. All she knew for sure was that right here and now, she was falling hard and she could only pray that he was feeling the same way.
Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars-a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they're gone.
The scariest thing about distance is that you don’t know whether they’ll miss you or forget you.
If you're a bird...I'm a bird.
I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart.
In time, the hurt began to fade and it was easier to just let it go. At least I thought it was. But in every boy I met in the next few years, I found myself looking for you
Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it.
I believe that if I’ve done one thing right, it has been to love my wife.
Experience had taught me that even the most precious memories fade with the passage of time.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that you are there, in everything I am, in everything I've ever done, and looking back, I know that I should have told you know much you've always meant to me.
I understand women. There’s no man alive who can honestly say those words and mean them. It just isn’t possible, so there’s no use trying. But that doesn’t mean you can’t love them anyway. And it doesn’t mean that you should ever stop doing your best to let them know how important they are to you.
I come here because this place is special to me. It was here, after all, that I first realized I was in love with Jane, and while I know my life was bettered because of it, I must admit that even now I’m mystified by how it happened.
The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of color -- oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples...
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
I have a million things to talk about, but I only want you to talk. I just want two of us to begin from the beginning.
I did not fall into love – I rose into love.
First love, with its frantic haughty imagination, swings its object clear of the everyday, over the rut of living, making him all looks, silences, gestures, attitudes, a burning phrase with no context.
Italy, and the spring and first love all together should suffice to make the gloomiest person happy.