Best 464 quotes in «unrequited love quotes» category

I had shelved expectations of another kiss; the intensity of not kissing now worked almost as well—the proximity and denial.

I had someone once who made every day mean something. And now…. I am lost…. And nothing means anything anymore.

I hate it when people say 'follow your heart.' That is not a morally sufficient reason for stalking.

I have poured my heart out …. And now I am empty.

I heard thee laugh, And in this merriment I defined the measure of my pain; I knew that I was alone, Alone with love, Poor shivering love, And he, little sprite, Came to watch with me, And at midnight We were like two creatures by a dead camp-fire.

I imagine there must be only a very, very few men in the world, that I should like to marry; and of those few, it is ten to one I may never be acquainted with one; or if I should, it is twenty to one he may not happen to be single, or to take a fancy to me.

I joined social media to get over an unrequited love of real life.

I just stood there, like a grain of sand amongst a million others on a beach.

I know girls aren't supposed to tell, but I've got to tell—just in case you should fail to love me because you never knew how much I loved you. I want not to have to say later—I wish I'd told him.

I know I only want him,' she said between sobs, the syllables all wrong, 'because he doesn't want me. How is that even possible?' 'It's normal to want what we can't have,' I said soothingly. 'No, I mean how can he not want me?

I know you’ve forgotten me, but I’ll remember you as long as I live.

I love and I lust and it really doesn’t matter if they love me back because sometimes that’s what love is.

I loved her [Gilberte]; I was sorry not to have had the time and the inspiration to insult her, to hurt her, to force her to keep some memory of me. I thought her so beautiful that I should have liked to be able to retrace my steps so as to shake my fist at her and shout, "I think you're hideous, grotesque; how I loathe you!"_

I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check’d him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, Alas! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought To vex myself and him: I now would give My love could he but live Who lately lived for me, and, when he found ’Twas vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death. I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me! but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years Wept he as bitter tears. Merciful God! such was his latest prayer, These may she never share. Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold, Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, His name and life’s brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe’er you be, And oh! pray too for me!

I loved you at your worst, and you were always at your worst. Nothing could stop me. Not even you.

I loved you even when you forgot me. And—for a little while—you loved me back.

I may love him, I may love him, for he is a man, and I am only a beech-tree.

I miss that feeling of connection. Knowing he was out there somewhere thinking about me at the same time I was thinking about him.

I'm not unlucky at love, just incredibly lucky with celibacy.

I might have known better, nothing is what everybody wants, the world runs on that law. Personally, if I could, I would instigate Meat-Axe Day, and out of the goodness of my heart I would whack your head off with a couple of others. Every man should be allowed one day and a hatchet just to ease his heart.

I'm the absolute queen bee of unrequited love.

I’m sorry I broke you. It’s just that you’re so pretty, and I break pretty things.

...I'm the last person to ask about unrequited love - I've run away to the Moon and fled to its valleys...

I'm starting to learn that if things are messy, or pieces don't get put back right, they are going to hurt, either way.

I remembered Daemon's feather soft kisses on my cheek, and I remembered the clouds parting and the sun shining on a cold February day in Ireland. And as my baby girl was laid on my chest and my husband held my hand, I saw my best friend Kat walk into the sun kissed part in the clouds, hand in hand, along with the last regrets of my past.

In a way, it was the same as any normal break up. You took what was yours …. and I kept what I’d had from before we were together… You took my heart …. and I had nothing…

I never hated you. My anger was never with you, but with the little hell my heart had put me in. The anger always passed. I never regretted loving you. If I had gone to my grave never kissing you or touching you, I still would not have thought it a wasted love.

In life there is competition and love is no exception.

In the morning, that moment, when I knew it was you. When I could feel you breathing and we opened our eyes at the exact same time.

I realised I had a stream of thoughts about him which ran for the most part below conscious level. I noticed jets spurting up from this stream: comparisons with other relationships I knew of which had weathered massive changes and shifts of balance; small crumbs of hope he would find he missed the familiarity of my company, or that his gestures of comfort meant more than a gentle goodbye. I grieved for these hopes, and their hopelessness.

I need to stop running back to you in my mind all the time.

In every scene I am waiting for you To be with me in dreams

I sometimes think there is nothing more painful than love denied. To love someone you cannot have, to stand beside your heart's desire and be unable to take them in your arms. A love that cannot be requited. I can think of nothing more painful than that.

I remembered only the good and loveable things about him, not the wretchedness he caused me, and the dope, and the resentments and silence and the half-crazy outbursts. I remembered his smell and the colour of his eyes and his head thrown back to laugh; these things were a second away, in time, but the others I dredged up dutifully, knowing that I must, for the sake of truth and sanity, try to keep a balance.

I still think of you every day. But I’m trying not to let it hurt me with the same intensity that it used to.

I suppose we all see colors outside our usual spectrum in certain people. And the saddest part of life is having known what it looks like and saying goodbye while a quiet part of you hopelessly searches for it forever in shades of blue, red, and yellow. Perhaps all my writing is just a telling to others of the color I saw.

I suffer from unrequited self love. I love myself, but I don’t Love myself back.

I think of the quietness of Julian’s voice as he said I love you, the steadiness of his rib cage rising and falling against my back, as we sleep. I love you, Julian. But the words don’t come.

I think I've found someone with who I want to spend my life with and that person...Isn't you.

It didn’t hurt me. Not “hurt”. Hurt is a four letter word. It’s short, almost cute sounding. Aawwww, did that hurt? No. It didn’t hurt. Destroyed, Obliterated, Desecrated, Annihilated, Demolished, Shattered, or Demoralised maybe… But no. It didn’t hurt me. It didn’t “hurt” me at all.

I think if we stop running towards broken arms, we’d all be just fine.

I thought that you could hear all my unspoken words.....for I misunderstood the language of my own love was so intense and your ears were so brittle!

It hurts that I was just one page in the book of your life… But what hurts more is knowing you’ll revise that chapter someday…. ….. and you’ll erase me completely.

It is a horrible wonderful thing to be in love with you. To get to hear you sing for hour after hour but never be the subject of the song. To listen and listen and listen.

It'll be as always. Same pain, this disaffection, this non-love.

It is just as if you were expecting one million dollars and suddenly you come across a ten dollar note. You fall flat. But if you were not expecting anything and suddenly by the side of the road there is a ten dollar note, you are so happy. It is the same ten dollar note, but if the expectation was of one million dollars, it is nothing. Who bothers about ten dollar notes? If the expectation was none, then even a ten dollar note is almost like ten million dollars.

It is a terrible, wretched thing to love someone whom you know cannot love you. There are things that are more dreadful. There are many human pains more grievous. And yet it remains both terrible and wretched. Like so many things, it is insoluble.

It is our desire, not need, to be loved (back).

It is the deepest of wrongs I am driven to write…. And losing you was one of them.

It's as if I've stepped off the edge of a cliff, and even though my heart's in my mouth and my stomach is in knots, I'm the most excited I've ever been in my life. I'm totally enthralled by him. I want him, every part of him, and I desperately want him to feel the same way about me.