Essays In Love Novels & Stories

"Love is not messed up. It is just what you think about it that is messed up. Your mind like every other human mind is a processor. The difference between your mind and some people's minds is quality. Your mind is top quality, Ifenna! I also like to think that way out of fun mostly. The thing is, there still would be too many unknown possibilities to get to some meaningful results." "I couldn't agree more," Ifenna smiled. "Take for example, you are stranded in an island right now and you are all alone with someone like me who is the around your age. Say, you and I have no contact with the outside world. If a year pass, you may still try to stay faithful to your husband because you are marrie

I just want you to hear me, the truth no covered in bullshit. Before you, I thought I knew what love was. I thought it was something loud, something explosive, something that burned so bright it couldn’t possibly last. But you showed me that love is quiet too. Love is in the spaces between words, in the looks you give when you think I’m not paying attention, in the way you always come back, even when everything in you is telling you to run.

She looked at the partner who had walked through fire and ice to stand on this ledge. "Engineering is the study of forces in equilibrium," she said softly. "But love... love is the study of forces in motion. We don't need a contract to hold us together, Killian. We have the resonance." He kissed her then, a long, deep connection that felt like the final gear clicking into place. The story of the Vance and Vanderwall feud was a closed book, a relic of an era of scarcity and fear.

Maria replied with a sad tone. “What do you mean hold?” Daria asked again but Maria seemed hesitant, “I’m sorry if am offending you” Daria drew back. “No it’s fine I actually had a terrible experience with love” Marisa paused asking for another refill, “I fell in love with the most beautiful man I had ever seen, but he wasn’t in love with me at the time we met, my friend seduced him” she paused again. “And they had a fall out leading to his disappearance, so hear I am, unable to find love again”she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

‎In the love. ‎Chosen. ‎Always.

His actions louder. “I love you too, Amelia.” He says the words as if he’s afraid I’ll break. Or perhaps he’s worried he will. “I know I shouldn’t,” he adds, his voice a deep rumble against me. “I really fucking shouldn’t, because love is a bitch.” I have to smile at that, because he’s not wrong. Love is a bitch. But it’s also beautiful and strong. It’s surprising and sweet. It’s an enigma and a mystery.

The photographs, books, and the small leather-bound journal became witnesses to the evolving story of love and resilience. Through their shared grief, Larry and Abigail discovered that love could be multifaceted, capable of accommodating both the past and the present. Their relationship became a poignant tribute to the transformative power of love, proving that the heart could expand to embrace different forms of happiness while cherishing the memories that shaped its capacity to love.

Stella said calming herself by denying everything that crossed her mind. There is nothing fair in life or love. We can fall in love with anyone and we cannot stop it. There is no label in love because love is blind, if only we could choose the people we love we might not be broken hearted, but the beauty of love and its meaning will be lost. There is nothing wrong in love, we only live in the stigma of people who like to judge everything and determine something good and bad. Though there is no white that is not black and there is no black without white.

We would need a hundred words where we have only one, this little word of love that is good for everything and suitable for nothing, this verb to love that hangs out everywhere, that goes for everything, the love of God, love men, self-love, love of others, and I love my mother, and I love my husband, and I love my daughter, and I love my dog ​​(and the more I watch the man , the more I love my dog), and I love fries, and I love Venice, and I love Ravel, and I love your ass, and I love you, and I love to believe it. When you talk about love it does not necessarily mean to love your wife or her husband but to love your neighbor that's what love is, I believe in love because I already love wha

Nothing. I move on to the next day. The page is a little burnt on the sides. I try not to imagine what must have happened to the hand that held that diary. 2 July 2010 ‘I don’t know whether my love is shallow or unfounded since we have never talked. But unrequited, untold love is the purest form of love. There is no pretence in that.’