A Quote by Catherynne M. Valente
That's Venus, September thought. She was the goddess of love. It's nice that love comes on first thing in the evening, and goes out last in the morning. Love keeps the light on all night.
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My first and last love will always be fiction. It's the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night. I love the novel because it's like a love affair. You can just fall into it and keep going, and you never know where it's going to take you.
I love the night passionately. I love it as I love my country, or my mistress, with an instinctive, deep, and unshakeable love. I love it with all my senses: I love to see it, I love to breathe it in, I love to open my ears to its silence, I love my whole body to be caressed by its blackness. Skylarks sing in the sunshine, the blue sky, the warm air, in the fresh morning light. The owl flies by night, a dark shadow passing through the darkness; he hoots his sinister, quivering hoot, as though he delights in the intoxicating black immensity of space.
To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.
I thought Love lived in the hot sunshine,
But O, he lives in the moony light!
I thought to find Love in the heat of day,
But sweet Love is the comforter of night.
Venus, a beautiful, good-natured lady, was the goddess of love; Juno, a terrible shrew, the goddess of marriage: and they were always mortal enemies.
I love to work. I know that sounds ridiculous to say because all people love to work, but I love the homework that goes into acting. I love figuring out different ways of playing a scene. I love the energy of being on set. I love not getting enough sleep because I have to wake up early in the morning.
Can one have love? If we could, love would need to be a thing, a substance that one can have, own, possess. The truth is, there is no such thing as love. Love is an abstraction, perhaps a goddess or an alien being, although nobody has ever seen this goddess. In reality, there exists only the act of loving. To love is a productive activity. It implies caring for, knowing, responding, affirming, enjoying: the person, the tree, the painting, the idea. It means bringing to life, increasing his/her/its aliveness. It is a process, self-renewing and self increasing.
True love, to me, is when she's the first thought that goes through your head when you wake up and the last thought that goes through your head before you go to sleep.
I believe in love — yes, I'm one of those girls. Most of my friends believe in love. I went out with Katy Perry last night. She's so fun and awesome, but it's cool to see someone older believe in love too. She is all about it, and that's how I will always be. I believe in stories like, 'Oh, I met him in Starbucks.'
I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last past Saturday night
And I’d like to know it’s more than love at first sight
Love is an incredibly strong thing, it goes everywhere, it's like water, you can't stop it. Love, once you have it, once you create a kind of pathway for it to come out, it just keeps on coming out.
I love the '40s. I love the '50s. I love the style, I love the clothes. I love how the women looked. I love the dances. I love the music. I love the amber of the light. I'm just in love with the cars. I'm in love with all of it.
The problem for most of us is that the cup has holes, so love goes out just as easily as it goes in. What happens when people are living in the unconditional state of love, however, is that they recognize they are the ocean of love; they know it's their essence. And they naturally overflow in this love. So instead of being love beggars, they become love philanthropists.
In Lucretius, sexual desire is considered real and genuine, whereas love is illusory. Venus, the goddess who represents the power of sexual desire, is the font of love. She merely mocks lovers with mental images. Try as they might, lovers cannot satisfy themselves by gazing nor by rubbing against one another because the madness of love will always return; hence Lucretius' prescription to flee the mental images, that is, to ward off what feeds love, turning the mind elsewhere.
As I love nature, as I love singing birds, and gleaming stubble, and flowing rivers, and morning and evening, and summer and winter, I love thee, my Friend.
Love does not last forever, then?" "He asked me the same thing this morning," she said. "No, it does not - not love that has been betrayed. One realizes that one has loved a mirage, someone who never really existed. Not that love dies immediately or soon, even then. But it does die and cannot be revived.
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