Best 464 quotes in «unrequited love quotes» category

With women who do not love us, as with the "dear departed," the knowledge that there is no hope left does not prevent us from continuing to wait.

With you in my life I felt like I could conquer anything. It was as if I was on top of the world and even the stars themselves were just within my grasp. But without you …. even getting through the day is hard.

Won’t you say something? I am waiting! I am a coward, I said nothing; I have lost your sympathy. I am brave, I said nothing; I bore the burden of the untold love within me. I fought furiously to hide that enormous love inside a shell. I haven’t lost you as a friend and my love… My love is kept whole with no abrasion or disappointment.

Worst thing was I said I am fine and you believed me

Yes, you are still grieving for the fact that Olly is not loving you as you love him. But death is no solution. Certainly not this horrible, messy death. Could you at least not consider possible option that is not leaving you looking diabolical at funeral?" Oh, for the love of God.

You and I Again and again Always almost Never enough. - A world of almosts

... You are here again, so realistic, just, the golden dawn takes you away in the morning... Be here now, not there, where there is nothing but stars and emptiness... ...

You are the best worst thing to ever happen to me

You are the silence of my thoughts, the alleyways of my brain, the thought in between other thoughts that live, the space between every look I give. In split seconds of my mortality, there you are - my sweet neutrality.

You can give birth to a beautiful, perfect human being, but requited love isn’t guaranteed for her—or for any of us.

you’re gone and your unfinished poem lies alone on my desk— empty of tears, I only hope it rains today

You can miss places. You can miss people. Just know that what you’re really missing is the way things were. And even if you could go there again…. see them again…. you can’t go back. They’re not the same. You’re not the same. The loss of them changed you.

You can't dance to paintings. This is something Ben said, during one of our White Cube conversations, back when I was still wrong about him. He said it even though, at the time, he was desperately trying to be a painter. He said it because it was true and not because it was something either of us wanted to hear.

You have never loved me as I love you--never--never! Yours is not a passionate heart--your heart does not burn in a flame! You are, upon the whole, a sort of fay, or sprite-- not a woman!

You love him because this is what you do. Over and over again. You knit yourself right up into these men's lives, these men who will never ever be able to love you back, and then you wonder like a crazy person why you aren't the chosen one at the end. You have to stop doing this...

You made me feel worthwhile…. like for once it mattered if I was here or not because I actually meant something to someone…. because I meant something to you. I miss that feeling.

You never forget someone you've loved once.

You’re everything to me. But at best, I’m just a memory to you.

Your love for me does not exist in the real world. Yes, it is love, I do not deny it. But not every love has a course to run, smooth or otherwise, and this love has no course at all . . . But that is remote from love and remote from ordinary life. As real people we do not exist for each other.

Your memory feels like home to me. So whenever my mind wanders, it always finds it’s way back to you.

You know someone is special to you when you're literally captivated by them in even the little moments. The slightest thing they say or do, is like watching the universe unfold. And nothing else matters in those moments. Where you go about your day, & the most capricious of things send you into a whirlwind of thoughts connected to them. And a plethora of thoughts flood into your mind, for no apparent reason other than its them. Or perhaps, you randomly see a picture of them in your news feed & you just pause & look, & the world melts away & all time seems to stop, & there's a radiance that illuminates your life. And you focus on the little details, & wish you could just capture every single detail vividly. And you see their eyes, & though they're merely a moment in time, their eyes are so beautiful, that they transcend the medium & are as if they're there looking back. And all you can do it look into them. Knowing those eyes are what you could look into endlessly. And you know that it's all you could ever want, if for just a single moment in time. Or they share their thoughts, & you rack your brain around how they think. An you just want to understand & know more of their thoughts, simply because they're theirs. They, to you, are a more elegant work of art than even the finest painting, songs or poems of the great artists. And you know that even the most renowned artist couldn't conceive of a more perfect image of beauty. Leonardo, Van Gough, Rembrandt, Picasso, the most renowned artist of time would go mad in attempts to capture even a fraction of such a beautiful sight. That even Shakespeare couldn't put such a person into words. Though there's no doubt they're worthy of being the subject of a Shakespearean sonnet. But it could do no justice to their reality, that because there are no words that truly could ever describe them, even such an attempt would be like trying to describe the complex, wondrous & marvelous nature of the universe in but a single word. That no words, paintings, pictures, or thought could describe them & encapsulate the essence of their grace. And that though no one is truly perfect, they as a person through your eyes, reach a state as near perfect as you could imagine. And even dreams couldn't conceive of a greater wonder of life. It's as if the sum of all the beauty in the world can be found within this one person. It's wonderful, inspiring, breathtaking. Or rather, it's a whirlwind of emotions. Where the wonder & awe bleed into & merge with the disheartening longing, utter belief that you could not for a second touch that with you so desperately struggle & grasp for & an inability to even breath in the moments you're interacting with them. But it's all the more maddening because with all the wanting of your heart, you know it's wanting for something it could never have. That for all your wanting, you know such things are simply & purely unobtainable. And all you can do is hold to adoration & hopes. Hopes that you in your heart know fully are hopeless, but which you can't help but maintain. I think few things are more maddening than that feelings. Most people, when face with such a situation, might despair & grow cynical. But so seldom do we ever meet someone who so maddeningly captivates us, so seldom someone who's very existence throws your world upside down. In a time in which genuine emotion is a scarcity. And pseudo-emotions, frivolous & quick to fade, are rampant. The genuine article is something I cherish. When something makes you feel anything, it's something amazing. Regardless if it's a fervent concoction of the greatest good & the saddest sad. The experience of meeting such a person, who can spark such thoughts & feeling, is a genuine rarity. One in which a given person could go a lifetime without experiencing, but which is worth experiencing. And something that, though ultimately heartbreaking, I wouldn't give up experiencing.

You're the queen of pushing people away before they can say they like you. The queen of rejecting first so you can't be rejected.

You think I need an orgasm to enjoy sex?” she demanded. “What are you, like fifteen?” She eyed him in disgust. “I can get my own orgasms just fine. Last night was not about me getting off. It was about comfort and solace. About helping you to forget for a while.” Ethan blinked as the full magnitude of her words pelted him like shrapnel. “Oh my God. It was a pity fuck?

You talked over the tour guide who pointed to houses and windows. Showing us where people had lived and died and other people now stayed in their place. Just like a broken heart." - Adieu

You've never told him", Violet says. It's not a question. It's obvious. "I tell him all the time - I just make sure it's never when he's listening. I say it when he's in the other room, or when he's asleep, or when the music's really loud. Sometimes he asks me what I just said. And I tell him never mind. Or I make up something else, something that isn't 'I love you'.

You've obviously never been in love." "I have actually. And awfully. And—always—without hope—I've never had my love reciprocated ever.

You wanted a wife but I was still a girl.

You're hung up on something that's never going to love you back.

You will realize you love me But it will be too late You will cry out for me I will be long gone This is not a wish But what I knew to be so

Although love unreturned can drive you to despair, trust that somewhere out there, someone is waiting just for you.

Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?

She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.

Love unrequited is violent. He loves you so much that he's turned it into hate.

Only three things are infinite. The sky in its stars, the sea in its drops of water, and the heart in its tears.

When you give someone your whole heart and he doesn't want it, you cannot take it back. It's gone forever.

Unrequited love is like hitting your head against a wall that isn't there.

According to science/religion/philosophy, there is a part/piece/place in our body that is the source of our energy. It has no end or beginning. It is the concentration of everything that we are made up of. It is our version of the Chicago-fire that burns us down, only to make us emerge from our ashes like the Phoenix. It makes us who we are. Unfortunately, it hasn’t been named yet. They can’t find a word in any language that can explain the sheer beauty and infinite power that it holds. They must have never met you. If it were up to me, I would have named “it” after you. You.

A broken heart can be as lethal as a bullet to the brain.

Act that way and slowly but surely I will fade away. All the dawns and all the twilights will rob me, piece by piece, of myself, and before long my very life will be shaved away completely - and I would end up nothing.

You like someone who can't like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot.

Above all her voice moved him. He had not known that an accent seduced his emotions. But he’d always been drawn to those with an accent. Be it woman or man. It sounded nicer. A lavender husk. More proper, elegant. His attuned ear seemed to be remembering voices from another life, another time. He could never escape the sense that he’d lost a life dear to him and that life was lived in another language. -from Who Has Known Heights: The Mystique Memoirs of a Melancholic Mind

A kiss…. ….. is just a kiss…. Until it’s all you reminisce. (Then the memory becomes your most treasured possession.)

A great sword pierced Sefton's heart. She too had loved Lucas with her own kind of deep secret love, and it seemed to her in this moment that, if he had asked her, she would have gone with him anywhere.

All good things must come to an end,' said Flosshilde, 'and I don't suppose he'll ever be interested in me even if he does get rid of her. Which is funny, really,' she said bitterly. 'After all, he's nothing special and I am, Heaven knows. But there you are.

A life of madness I have been living for fifteen years. I have thrown away everything I had, my devoted wife, two lovely children, my family, my wealth on a hopeless passion. My love that once glowed like a warm flame is gone. A fire burns inside me now. My love, instead of being upheld has been cast aside like dirt. I can weep all I want out of rage and self-loathing but the world will only laugh at the sight of me.

All I knew was that I hated her. For I was like any dull ass who has ever loved someone who loved another. I thought: if only she were gone, it would change everything.

All of it is because Of how badly you lied to me I thought it was just you and me Or at the very least a tiny epigram

All of us have had this experience. At some point, we have each said through our tears, “I’m suffering for a love that’s not worth it.” We suffer because we feel we are giving more than we receive. We suffer because our love is going unrecognized. We suffer because we are unable to impose our own rules. But ultimately there is no good reason for our suffering, for in every love lies the seed of our growth. The more we love, the closer we come to spiritual experience. Those who are truly enlightened, those whose souls are illuminated by love, have been able to overcome all of the inhibitions and preconceptions of their era. They have been able to sing, to laugh, and to pray out loud; they have danced and shared what Saint Paul called “the madness of saintliness.” They have been joyful—because those who love conquer the world and have no fear of loss. True love is an act of total surrender.

And even when he guessed that the love stories of the misled and the forsaken had become a little less authentic with each retelling . . . even if this was the case, he was still moved. Indeed, he was more moved by the lives of the bereft and the unchosen than he was by stories of success in love.

A mighty pain to love it is, And 't is a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain.