Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides.
You told me love was fickle and fleeting.
I did not want to think so much about her. I wanted to take her as an unexpected, delightful gift, that had come and would go again — nothing more. I meant not to give room to the thought that it could ever be more. I knew too well that all love has the desire for eternity and that therein lies its eternal torment. Nothing lasts. Nothing.
They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever.
There is something inexpressibly charming in falling in love and, surely, the whole pleasure lies in the fact that love isn't lasting.
But what do I care, for love will be over so soon, Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by, For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent, It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.
To do something that will just fly away is kind of special. Every time somebody tell you they love you, that "I love you" flies away, and you wait until the next one.
Unsubstantial Death is amorous.
Love lodged in a woman's breast is but a guest.
Love was generous precisely because it could never be immortal.
I knew I had fallen in love with Lolita forever; but I also knew she would not be forever Lolita.
So you treat your love like a firefly, like it only gets to shine for a little while. Catch it in a mason jar, with holes in the top, and run like hell to show it off.
