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Love For Her Quotes (page 6)

She loved the sea for its storms alone, cared for vegetation only when it grew here and there among ruins. She had to extract a kind of personal advantage from things and she rejected as useless everything that promised no immediate gratification? for her temperament was more sentimental than artistic, and what she was looking for was emotions, not scenery. Gustave Flaubert
If a young women once thinks herself handsome, she never doubts the truth of any man that tells her he is in love with her; for if she believes herself charming charming enough to captive him, 'tis natural to expect the effects of it. Daniel Defoe
Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than... William Shakespeare
But I lent myself to it with a good enough grace, knowing it was love, for she had told me so. She bent over the couch, because her rheumatism, and in I went from behind. It was the only position she could bear, because of her lumbago." --HAHA! Samuel Beckett
This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,--The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed. To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me! Emily Dickinson
She, at least, ought to have known that he was wearing a mask, and having found that out, she should have torn it from his face, whenever they were alone together....Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by her own pride Baroness Orczy
She closed her eyes; and in the sweet slumber lyingher spirit tiptoed from its lodging place.It's folly to shrink in fear, if this is dying;for death looked lovely in her face. Petrarch
My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was? liberty. Charlotte Bronte
To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen.... And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the... Arthur Conan Doyle
The shock of her death froze something in me. The child I loved, was gone, but I kept looking for her - long after I had left my own childhood behind. The poison was in the wound, you see. And the wound wouldn't heal. Vladimir Nabokov
Edward finds Elinor crying for her dead father, offers her his handkerchief and their love story commences. Ang [Lee] very anxious that we think about what we want to do. I'm very anxious not to do anything and certainly not to think about it. Emma Thompson
Alexander Pope quote: "No woman ever hates a manfor being in love with her; but..."
No woman ever hates a manfor being in love with her; but mainly a woman hates aman for being her friend. Alexander Pope
Haruki Murakami quote: "In the spring of her twenty-second year, Sumire fell in love..."
In the spring of her twenty-second year, Sumire fell in love for the first time in her life. Haruki Murakami
She is a woman of honour and smartness whose wild leaves out luck, always taking risks, and there is something in her brow now, that only she can recognize in a mirror. Ideal and idealistic in that shiny dark hair! People fall in love with her. She is a woman I don’t know well enough to hold in my wing, if writers have wings, to harbour for the rest of my life. Michael Ondaatje
Loretta folded her arms. She felt like a heroine in a movie, confronted by a jealous husband in a kitchen while outside the camera is aching to draw back and show a wonderland of adventures waiting for her—long, frantic rides on trains, landscapes of wounded soldiers, a lovely white desert across which a camel caravan draped voluptuously in veils moves slowly with a kind of mincing melancholy, the steamy jungles of India opening before British officers in white, young officers, the mysteries... Joyce Carol Oates

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