Of all the follies the greatest is to love the world.
I think the main reason my marriages failed is that I always loved too well but never wisely.
You can't give a child too much love and if you love somebody, you can't be with them enough. There's no such thing.
I know you loved both he and I, the way a mother can love two sons. And no one should be judged for loving more than they ought, only for loving not enough.
Even our pets can become idols.
I like animals. I like people who like animals. I hate people who love animals to the point they lose their sense of reason. I'm talking the 'my computer wallpaper is my dog,' 'I hang a Christmas stocking for my cat' crowd.
There is a kind of love, the excess of which forbids jealousy.
They love too much that die for love.
Love and sausage are alike. Can never have enough of either.
Words like passion and ecstasy, we learn them but they stay flat on the page. Sometimes we try to turn them over, find out what's on the other side, and everyone has a story to tell os a woman or a brothel or an opium night or a war. We fear it. We fear passion and laugh at too much love and those who love too much.
To love it too much is to obscure and not see what is there.
Personal prudence, even when dictated by quite other than selfish considerations, surely is no special virtue in a military man; while an excessive love of glory, impassioning a less burning impulse, the honest sense of duty, is the first.
When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor, no worthiness.
If you do not love too much, you do not love enough.
When one loves animals and children too much, one loves them against human beings.
There's some are fou o' love divine; There's some are fou o' brandy.
God doesn't give us just enough. God gives us more than enough: more bread and fish than we can eat, more love than we dared to ask for.
L'amoureux qui n'oublie pas quelquefois meurt par exce' s, fatigue et tension de me moire (tel Werther). The lover who does not forget sometimes dies from excess, fatigue, and the strain of memory (like Werther).
For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such, As what he loves may never like too much.
I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell.
When one does not love too much, one does not love enough.
They who love dancing too much seem to have more brains in their feet than in their head.
There is a sort of love whose very excessiveness prevents the lover's being jealous.
I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.
My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public; and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad.
