Best 232 quotes in «infatuation quotes» category

... I somehow convinced myself that she knew how I felt, and that she probably felt the same way.

I swooned the first time I saw Charlo. I actually did. I didn't faint or fall on the floor but my legs went rubbery on me and I giggled. I suddenly knew that I had lungs because they were empty and collapsing.

I think there is no difference between love and infatuation. If it works out, we call it love; if it doesn’t, we shrug our shoulders and say it was infatuation. It’s a hindsight word.

I thought of nothing but her. I expected everything from her. I was ready to lay everything at her feet. I was not in the least in love with her. Yet I had only to imagine that she might fail to keep the appointment, or forget it, to see where I stood. Then the world would be a desert once more, one day as dreary and worthless as the last, and the deathly stillness and wretchedness would surround me once more on all sides with no way out from this hell of silence except the razor.

It is difficult to love someone who loves you, but easy to hate someone who loves you, and love someone who hates you.

It is only by seeing beauty in everything that we can see it in any one single thing, day after day. Don't run into the arms of obsession, for that quickly fades. Long lasting love comes from an open, loving heart.

It’s always funny watching something so beautiful not know how beautiful it really is. It’s sad even.

I understand that she’s like the ocean; no matter how much people try, they’d never be able to fathom every part, every depth, and every crevice, that lies within.

It's always new and astonishing when it's yours. Infatuation; sex; card tricks.

It's hard to explain how an infatuation actually starts. It's a state so all-encompassing that it's almost impossible to remember how it felt to live inside your own head before it began. Everything that precedes it becomes a pathway that was always leading there. Time before is valuable only as a resource with which to create a persona, to bind the object of the infatuation closer. I had given my (partially fabricated) past life to Mizuko to make a story that in the end never got told. Or not by her. It is also hard to explain the intensity of the infatuation itself. There is rarely an explanation that seems reasonable to anyone but you. Unless you're part of a cult or viral phenomenon, so that when you weep outside the object of your infatuation's hotel room, you do so in the company of millions.

It's so hard to think about designing our dream home when all l wanna do is lay you out like a blueprint & bring you the lumber you require.

It seemed as though Theodore's passion for Alice far exceeded his genuine knowledge of her.

I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.

I've said this before, but people love you for so many reasons. Some love you only for what you do for them. Some love you for how much money you spend. Some love you for your possessions. By now, we should know that isn't love, but merely infatuation. Don't be fooled into thinking a person like that is going to hang around once those things are gone.

I wanted to badly to be vulnerable over a burger, beer, and bags of free books we find on some stranger's porch. You wanted badly to be touched some thousand miles away and never found the time to write me back.

Love, being in love, isn’t a constant thing. It doesn’t always flow at the same strength. It’s not always like a river in flood. It’s more like the sea. It has tides, it ebbs and flows. The thing is, when love is real, whether it’s ebbing or flowing, it’s always there, it never goes away. And that’s the only proof you can have that it's real, and not just a crush or infatuation or a passing fancy.

Love at infancy is the strongest and puriest of all, it is mixed with infatuation and deep happiness. Persistent smile brings out hollow dimples, and persistent frowns brings out hollow wrinkles.

Love at infancy is the strongest and puriest of all, it is mixed with infatuation and deep happiness.

Love is a word that is overused these days, due to other lesser feelings often being mistaken for it. Infatuation, admiration, and attraction can pose as love, and can sometimes overwhelm us and fool us into thinking that we have found the real thing when we haven't. Those other feelings may be pleasant for a time, but they are not real love. Real love is rare. It's something that, quite honestly, I believe very few people ever truly experience.

Love is a feeling that must be felt from the heart and seen through inner beauty. Only if this was known to the youth, many a marriages would have blossomed with age and cherished through decades. Just like a plant that needs the sun, water and more time to grow into a beautiful tree with lovely leaves and flowers, love needs time to be nurtured over time, built on a strong foundation of friendship, trust and honesty. When this foundation is built and combined with the feeling that tickles you from within, that is when love actually happens, the rest is all infatuation, attraction or even lust.

Love is merely a combination between infatuation and confusion.

Love her he doesn't but the thought he puts into that young woman would launch a national product complete with TV spots & skywriting outlets in Bonn & Tokyo I mean it

Love is not blind. Infatuation is blind. Love is all-seeing and still accepting.

Love is the only criminal who, after stealing your heart, convinces you to celebrate her.

Love makes the world go round, but sometimes you spin so much you end up dizzy.

Love is blind, and therefore not responsible for whoever she bumps into.

Love: the impossible combination of being IN the deep end and being OFF the deep end.

Marianne would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able to sleep at all the first night after parting from Willoughby. She would have been ashamed to look her family in the face next morning, had she not risen from her bed in more need of repose than when she lay down in it.

Many a woman secretly has a crush on a man who secretly has a crush on her man.

Maybe you’re smiling as I stumble to put my feelings into words. But I’m trying to do her justice, you know?

My whole being is a dark chant that will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossomings in this chant I sighed you, oh in this chant, I grafted you to the tree, to the water, to the fire.

My favorite thing you do is stop me in the middle of whatever I'm doing to tell me you love me.

Naomi giggled that same giggle with which Enoch had become infatuated.

Mr. Haverbink bowed deeply, muscles rippling all up and down his back, and lumbered from the room. Miss Hisselpenny sighed and fluttered her fan. "Ah, for the countryside, what scenery there abides..., " quoth she. Miss Tarabotti giggled. "Ivy, what a positively wicked thing to say. Bravo.

My arm reaches up. I don't know if I'm reaching for the pipe or for him. I want to touch his skin. I want to breathe in what he breathes. The yellow swirl. I want to be the yellow swirl. I want him to breathe me in, be sent riding on oxygen molecules deep into lungs. I want to travel through his body, seeing what makes him happy, attaching myself to whatever place in him sparks to life on my arrival. His blood. His tissues. His muscles. I want to burrow inside the folds like a wind-blown dusting of snow so that each time I melt away, he seeks me out again. There's no delineation between the pipe and the smoke and his body. It's all whole, I want in. I want him. 'Please,' I say softly, 'let me try.' Without letting go of the pipe, he swings his hand holding the lighter with incredible force, backhanding my face. My jaw pops. The lighter swings back under the pipe undulating back and forth, inhaling the curl as it rises from the tar, exactly the same as before he hit me, only now he's staring at me, hating me.

My time with Eli was a sweet sort of agony. It was like the feeling you would get watching a bubble as a child. A thing you can’t help but find magical and beautiful yet it must remain elusive. You can’t try to get too close. You can’t try to touch it lest it pop and be gone forever, but there is nothing you want more than to try. So frustrated you will yourself to hold back and savor it for what it is, a moment of fleeting perfection.

Obsession and possession are just sessions destined to end soon.

OMG. He's a gift shop, a lamb kebab with mint,/a solar panel poetry machine with biceps. He's the path/through the dark woods, the light on the page, a postcard/from the castle and a one-way ticket there. He's the most/astounding arrangement of molecules ever!/Just look at those tights! An honest-to-God prince at last.

Once the entrancement (Infatuation; Deluded state), in material objects, is gone; the loss in spirituality stops!

O woman, thou art my imperfection!

One of your curls could fall striking me with the genius of a million masterpieces without you even noticing the violent storms of my love.

Real love, true love is not like the shooting star that makes you go, "ooh, aah". Real, true love is like the constancy of the sun that comes up slowly every morning - sometimes too hot; sometimes hidden behind the clouds, but always there. Therefore, often take for granted.

Part of her exulted that he’d asked her, out of everyone in the coach, this question; he must think her intelligent. The rest of her, though, wanted to slap herself for disproving his thought. Here was her opportunity to have her fantasy of a deep philosophical conversation come true with Garth, and all she could say was well, not really. Idiot!

Passion will warm you for days, infatuation will warm you for months, but love will set you on fire for a lifetime.

S: But Chris, I think his embarrassment isn't in relation to you or me but to himself. What can he do? C: I hate being thrown into such a physical state. S: Isn't that experiencing life to the hilt? C: No, it's just a dumb infatuation. I'm so ashamed. S: But even if his silence hurts you, isn't that what attracted you to him? The fact that he was inaccessible. So, I think there is a contradiction there, at least nothing to feel ashamed of -.

Romantic comedies very rarely deal with washing your lover's dishes because she has to be up early for work, since no one wants to see the mundane truth when they can flip the channel to a desperate, emotionally-limited frottage.

She's like a tulip that's still gorgeous even though she just can't open up.

Seeing her made me feel like I was catching a rarity, going up to it very careful, heart-in-mouth as they say.

She dated me for 3/4 yrs and liked me so much that she married me and disliked me so much that she divorced me after 4 yrs.

She'd been mad for him as a girl, but she'd chalked that up to youthful infatuation. She'd tracked the events of his life religiously for a decade, but she'd told herself that was idle curiosity. And now... now she desired him so much she could scarcely stand, but surely that was only lust. Wasn't it?