And perhaps it was precisely because she knew nothing at all about chess that chess for her was not simply a parlor game or a pleasant pastime, but a mysterious art equal to all the recognized arts. She had never been in close contact with such people – there was no one to compare him with except those inspired eccentrics, musicians and poets whose image one knows as clearly and as vaguely as that of a Roman Emperor, an inquisitor or a comedy miser. Her memory contained a modest dimly lit gallery with a sequence of all the people who had in any way caught her fancy. Vladimir Nabokov
The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in...
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Victor Hugo
Tonight was... well, it was perfect for me too. You've turned my world upside down. I've fallen in love with you, chica, and it scares the fuckin' shit outta me. I've been shakin' all night, because I knew it. I've tried to deny it, to...
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Simone Elkeles
Love must not entreat, ' she added, 'or demand. Love must have the strength to become certain within itself. Then it ceases merely to be attracted and begins to attract.
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Hermann Hesse
One rarely falls in love without being as much attracted to what is interestingly wrong with someone as what is objectively healthy.
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Alain De Botton
Mysteries of attraction could not always be explained through logic. Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls became the very hinges that held them together.
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Lisa Kleypas
More Quotes By Vladimir Nabokov
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
I think it is all a matter of love the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes
I recall certain moments, let us call them icebergs in paradise, when after having had my fill of her —after fabulous, insane exertions that left me limp and azure-barred— I would gather her in my arms with, at last, a mute moan of human tenderness...
Nothing revives the past so completely as a smell that was once associated with it.
Human life is but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished masterpiece
