The worst of a woman is that she expects you to make love to her, or to pretend to make love to her.

So love is rest? The cosy corner? The little nook? Sometimes it ought to be. Sometimes it is.

A writer falls in love with an idea and gets carried away.

Trust no friend without faults, and love a woman, but no angel.

What's terrible is to pretend that second-rate is first-rate. To pretend that you don't need love when you do; or you like your work when you know quite well you're capable of better.

I love Mickey Mouse more than any woman I have ever known.

Disneyland is a work of love. We didn't go into Disneyland just with the idea of making money.

I fall in love with myself, and I want someone to share it with me. And I want someone to share me, with me.

I love being in America. I used to love traveling and I am glad that I was able to go around the world. I still love to go to Europe, but I always want to come home.

"Love is a beautiful flower, but we must be brave enough to pick her up from the edge of a precipice."

"If you don't love me, it does not matter, anyway I can love for both of us"

Life is love, a gift from god and parent, death is gratitude for a new dimension

It's likely that only vibrations of love and gratitude appear in nature, and observations of nature shows this to be true.

Take away love and our earth is a tomb.

Love is the energy of life.

Without love, our earth is a tomb

What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

Love, hope, fear, faith - these make humanity; These are its sign and note and character

What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

O lyric love! half angel half bird

God made all the creatures and them our love and out fear, To give sign, we and they are his children, one family here.

Life with all it yields of joy and woe, And hope and fear, Is just our chance o’ the prize of learning love, How love might be, hath been indeed, and is.

For a crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.

Love, built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.