#v

Parenthood wasn’t about blood or biology, he found; it was about a joyful willingness to give yourself over, to subordinate your own needs for someone else’s. When you loved your kids, you’d give up everything to keep them safe and make them happy, and you didn’t care about the other things, the ones that went away. ↗

— Lisa Unger

#love

I watched as Humphrey Bogart’s character used beans as a metaphor for the relative unimportance in the wider world of his relationship with Ingrid Bergman’s character, and chose logic and decency ahead of his selfish emotional desires. The quandary and resulting decision made for an engrossing film. But this was not what people cried about. They were in love and could not be together. I repeated this statement to myself, trying to force an emotional reaction. I couldn’t. I didn’t care. I had enough problems of my own. ↗

— Graeme Simsion

#humphrey-bogart #ingrid-bergman #love #unrequited-love #love

Diana? Isn't she the goddess who hated men?' He considered. 'I think of her as the goddess who tempted men by bathing outdoors, and turned them into animal life if they succumbed to the lure of bare flesh. ↗

— Eloisa James

#love

She takes out a piece of paper that looks like the list I gave her months ago. Smiling her Hayley smile, she puts it in my hand. "These are my reasons." "You made me a list?" She nods, smile still glued on her face. "Gosh darn it, Brody. I love the heck out of you. You should know why too." (...) There's one thing on the list. And its in big letters, and I bark out my laughter. You're good in the sack. "You dork." I toss the paper over my shoulder, and she laughs against my lips. "Thought that would be the only one you cared about." I shake my head, wiggling my nose against hers. I still amazes me that she's my girl. ↗

— Becca Ann

#love

I love you,” he said, and he kissed me again. Feral. Possessive. I gasped out, “I love you too. ↗

— Jennifer L. Armentrout

#j-lynn #jennifer-l-armentrout #love

There is no physician like Him, none can save as He can; we love Him, and He loves us, and therefore we put ourselves into His hands, accept whatever he prescribes, and do whatever He bids.We feel that nothing can be wrongly ordered while He is the director of our affairs; for He loves us too well to let us perish, or suffer a single needless pang ↗

— Charles Spurgeon

#god #grace #holyspirit #jesus #love

Aren't you getting tired of people hating one another? What do they think they get out of it? ↗

— Roger Ebert

#hatred #love #respect #tolerance #love

Warish Shah I call out to you, Rise from your grave, speak out and turn, Another page of the Book of Love ↗

— Amrita Pritam

#love

A pearl button skipped and hopped across the floor, creating a counterpoint to the splatters of rain hitting the windows. ↗

— Eloisa James

#love

You know, all poetry may be a cry of generalised love, for this, or that, or the universe - which must be loved in its particularity, not its generality, but for its universal life in every minute particular. I have always supposed it to be a cry of ;unsatisfied love; - and so it may be indeed - for satisfaction may surfeit it and so it may die. I know many poets who write only when in an exalted state of mind which they compare to ;being in love;,when they do not simply state, that they are in love, that they seek love - for this fresh damsel - or that lively young woman - in order to find a fresh metaphor, or a new bright vision of things in themselves. And to tell you the truth, I have always believed I could diagnose this state of ;being in love; which they regard as ;most particular;, as inspired by item, one pair of black eyes or indifferent blue, ;item;, one graceful attitude of body or mind, ;item;, one female history of some twenty-two years from, shall we say 1821-1844 – I have always believed this ;in love; to be of something of the most abstract masking itself under the particular forms of both lover and beloved. And Poet who assumes and informs both. ↗

— A.S. Byatt

#inspiration #love #women #inspirational