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True Love Quotes

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True Love Quotes

“प्रेम मनुष्य को अपने से परे देखने की शक्ति देता है। प्रेम किसी से भी हो गया हो, मनुष्य से अथवा वस्तु से; किन्तु वह प्रेम सच्चा होना चाहिए। अन्तःकरण की तह से उठता हुआ आना चाहिए! वह स्वार्थी, लोभी या धोखेबाज़ नहीं होना चाहिए। राजकन्ये, सच्चा प्रेम हमेशा निःस्वार्थी होता है, निरपेक्ष होता है। फिर वह फूल से किया गया हो या किसी जीव से। प्रकृति की सुन्दरता से हो या माता-पिता से। प्रीतम या प्रेयसी से किया हो अथवा वंश, जाति या राष्ट से! निःस्वार्थ, निरपेक्ष, निरहंकार प्रेम ही मनुष्य की आत्मा के विकास की पहली सीढ़ी होती है। इस तरह का प्रेम केवल मनुष्य ही कर सकता है!”

“Though we were still half a room apart, I felt her: the tiny, coppery hairs on her arm that rose to attention when she was cold or aroused; the beautiful landscape of gooseflesh that was shivering across her skin beneath her robe; the flowery, powdery scent of that skin, as complicated as music. The faint freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose: I was falling into them, as though they were the starry summer sky.”

“Late that afternoon Raphael stood at the window of his study, looking out over the back of his garden. He could see small blue flowers blooming along the gravel paths, but for the life of him he could not recall what their name was. Somehow he knew that Iris would be able to name the tiny blue flowers. He pushed the thought aside. He'd lived over thirty years without Iris in his life and never felt the lack. Yet now she was gone merely hours and he was gazing out the window, mooning after her. He could shove her from his mind. He must shove her from his mind. But he still saw her tearstained face. Heard her pleading with him. Remembered her saying, "I love you." He closed his eyes. She was haunting him. It was as if she were in his blood now, a part of him as surely as the veins running under his skin, the lungs that let him breathe air. She'd permeated him until he could no more separate her from himself than tear the heart from his body. She was essential to his life.”

“A woman I didn't recognize tapped my arm. She was elderly, but still stood tall, her dark eyes bright with sadness. She wore a black brocade gown edged with red. She held out a bouquet of red carnations and white narcissus. She stepped forward and placed the flowers on Bartolomeo's headstone, then stepped back and slipped into the crowd so fast I could not see where she went. I stared down at the flowers. Narcissus was a common spring flower at funerals, but red carnations meant only love, deep abiding love. I had never seen her before. Who was she?”

“Love springs from awareness. It is only inasmuch as you see someone as he or she really is here and now, and not as they are in your memory or your desire or in your imagination or projection, that you can truly love them. Otherwise, it is not the person that you love but the idea that you have formed of this person, or this person as the object of your desire, not as he or she is in themselves.”