It is strange that men will talk of miracles, revelation, inspiration, and the like, as things past, while love remains.—"Chastity and Sensuality"
Love is a thirst that is never slaked.—Journal, 28 March 1856
Love is so delicate and fastidious that I see not how [it] can ever begin. Do you expect me to love with you, unless you make my love secondary to nothing else?—Journal, 14 March 1842
Love is the burden of all Nature's odes.—Journal, 2 March 1840
Love never perjures itself, nor is it mistaken.—Journal, 1845
Love never stands still, nor does its object. It is the revolving sun and the swelling bud. If I know what I love, it is because I remember it.—Journal, 14 March 1842
May we so love as never to have occasion to repent of our love.—"Chastity and Sensuality"
My friend is cold and reserved because his love for me is waxing and not waning.—Journal, 20 March 1842
My imagination, my love and reverence and admiration, my sense of miraculous, is not so excited by any event as by the remembrance of my youth.—Journal, June 1850
Only lovers know the value and magnanimity of truth.—A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers
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