It seems to me that the coming of love is like the coming of spring—the date is not to be reckoned by the calendar. It may be slow and gradual; it may be quick and sudden. But in the morning, when we wake and recognize a change in the world without, verdure on the trees, blossoms on the sward, warmth in the sunshine, music in the air, we say spring has come.—Bulwer-Lytton.
Love and a cough cannot be hid.—George Herbert.
Love is the most dunder-headed of all the passions; it never will listen to reason. The very rudiments of logic are unknown to it. "Love has no wherefore," says one of the Latin poets.—Bulwer-Lytton.
Love in marriage should be the accomplishment of a beautiful dream, and not, as it too often is, the end.—Alphonse Karr.
One dies twice: to cease to live is nothing, but to cease to love and to be loved is an insupportable death.—Voltaire.
The heart of a woman is never so full of affection that there does not remain a little corner for flattery and love.—Mauvaux.
Love is always blind and tears his hands whenever he tries to gather roses.—Arsène Houssaye.
Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.—Voltaire.
Oh! I was mad to intoxicate myself with the wine of love, and to extend my hand to the crown of poets. Pleasure! Poetry! you are perfidious friends. Pain follows you closely.—Arsène Houssaye.
If love gives wit to fools, it undoubtedly takes it from wits.—Alphonse Karr.