Julian Fellowes Quotes

Love is madness, if thwarted it develops fast.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy!

Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do.

Desire doubled is love and love doubled is madness.

When love ceases to be tragic it is something else and the individual again throws himself in search of tragedy.

In fact her maturity and blood kinship converted her passion to fever, so it was more affliction than affection. It literally knocked her down at night, and raised her up in the morning, for when she dragged herself off to bed, having spent another day without his presence, her heart beat like a gloved fist against her ribs. And in the morning, long before she was fully awake, she felt a longing so bitter and tight it yanked her out of a sleep swept clean of dreams.

Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.

You're not sick you're just in love.

In love, somehow, a man's heart is always either exceeding the speed limit, or getting parked in the wrong place.

Love is jealous, and ingenious in self-torture in proportion as it is pure and intense.

No one will ever know how many novels, poems, analyses, confessions, sufferings and joys have been piled up on this continent called Love, without it ever having turned out to be totally investigated.

I have written a raucous valentine to a poet's dream and agony.

A bit of lusting after someone does wonders for the skin.

But no one frees himself from being in love in three days.

That's not a villain, that's a man whose a victim of being in love with the wrong one.

I have a one-track mind. That's all that I'm interested in - love. And the lack of it. When it stops.

I am an incurable romantic. I am even in love with the idea of being in love, and hence, I write a lot of love songs.

At the heart of all romanticism is suffering.

I just like being as romantic as possible. I thrive off unrequited love. I've been in love in one way or another since I was 14. I go full-on in and get obsessive.

I used to love the idea of being in love, even though I hadn't been in love before.

Love makes fools of us all, big and little.

By my soul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep; nor, what's still worse, love any woman in the world but her.

What could he mean by speaking so, as if I were always thinking that he cared for me, when I know he does not; he cannot. ... But I won't care for him. I surely am mistress enough of myself to control this wild, strange, miserable feeling

Infatuation is one of those slightly comic illnesses which are at once so undignified and so painful that a nice-minded world does its best to ignore their existence altogether, referring to them only under provocation and then with apology, but, like its more material brother, this boil on the neck of the spirit can hardly be forgotten either by the sufferer or anyone else in his vicinity. The malady is ludicrous, sad, excruciating and, above all, instantly diagnosable.

Dearest - my body is simply crazy with wanting you - If you don't come tomorrow - I don't see how I can wait for you - I wonder if your body wants mine the way mine wants yours - the kisses - the hotness - the wetness - all melting together - the being held so tight that it hurts - the strangle and the struggle.