To speak of love is to make love.—Balzac.
A man may be a miser of his wealth; he may tie up his talent in a napkin; he may hug himself in his reputation; but he is always generous in his love. Love cannot stay at home; a man cannot keep it to himself. Like light, it is constantly traveling. A man must spend it, must give it away.—Macleod.
Repining love is the stillest; the shady flowers in this spring as in the other, shun sunlight.—Richter.
Love is like the moon; when it does not increase it decreases.—Ségur.
Love is the most terrible, and also the most generous of the passions: it is the only one that includes in its dreams the happiness of some one else.—Alphonse Karr.
A woman whom we truly love is a religion.—Emile de Girardin.
Childhood is only a wearisome prologue: the first act of the human comedy opens only at the moment when love makes a breach in our hearts.—Arsène Houssaye.
The religion of humanity is love.—Mazzini.
He who is intoxicated with wine will be sober again in the course of the night, but he who is intoxicated by the cup-bearer will not recover his senses until the day of judgment.—Saadi.
Love reasons without reason.—Shakespeare.