Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star.
True love is boundless like the ocean and, swelling within one, spreads itself out and, crossing all boundaries and frontiers, envelops the whole world.
I, the soul called Wanderer, love you, human Ian. And that will never change, no matter what I might become.
In true love it is the soul that envelops the body.
Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song, And spread thy golden wings in me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing, and flie away with Thee.
Death cannot touch the higher consciousness of man ... it can only separate those who love each other so far as their lower vehicles are concerned; the man living on earth, blinded by matter, feels separated from those who have passed onwards, but ... there is no such thing as Death at all.
Two human loves make one divine.
I think it is possible on earth to build a young, new Jerusalem, a little, new heaven of this surpassing love. God, either send me more of this love, or take me quickly over the water, where I may be filled with his love.
Loved. You can't use it in the past tense. Death does not stop that love at all.
My own observation is: lovers don't surrender to each other, they surrender to something unknown that exists between them. They surrender to love - call it the 'god of love' - they both surrender to the god of love. Hence nobody's ego is fulfilled by your surrender; both the egos disappear in love.
If human love hath power to penetrate the veil--and hath it not?--then there are yet living here a few who have the blessedness of knowing that an angel loves them.
Gender is irrelevant, and if you love somebody, you love somebody.
The soul yearns to fly home on the wings of love to the world of ideas. It longs to be freed from the chains of the body.
No love can be bound by oath or covenant to secure it against a higher love.
At first, when we truly love someone, our greatest fear is that the loved one will stop loving us. What we should fear and dread, of course, is that we won't stop loving them, even after they're dead and gone.
Perfect love has a breath of poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human beings.
