Best 464 quotes in «unrequited love quotes» category

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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 that existed was the blinding imperative to not think, to leave it all behind. To have it all fade to black in the throes of a truly good orgasm. To thrust and rock and pound until he came long and hard. To reach the pinnacle as fast as he could, to leap off the edge and truly leave all his earth-bound worries behind. He was a cave man. He was a Neanderthal. He was fucking Cro-Magnon.

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.

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 all the time my very soul would travel with her, invisible and crying soundlessly with pain. I had acquired a dimension of suffering which would poison and devour my whole being, as far as I could see, forever.

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.

Although he doesn't know it yet, she isn't his real life. But he is hers. This is painful.

And I go out at six in the morning and start my search for you. If I've dreamt a message of a street or a pub or a station I go there. And I wait for you.

And, long after Clark had gone home, Solomon stayed up wondering if everyone falls in love with someone who can't love them back.

And I thought, rolling my head to and fro between my hands in anguish, oh if only it could have worked somehow for us two.

And she never knew that he laid awake the whole time, his lips at her temple, his hand against her hair. Whispering her name. Whispering other words as well.

And that is what we do with a lover And no you're not that That you made sure

And I shall seek you endlessly, for I am a moth, and you’re my flame Knowing that I’ll burn at your touch I return, for you’re a fire; untamed

...and yes even loved him even though logic and reason told me I had no business feeling that way about him but I didn't care, no I loved him, and wanted him to know it not because I expected him to reciprocate )and yes even loved him even though logic and reason told me I had no business feeling that way about him but I didn't care, no I(even though I really really wanted him to) but because if someone ever loved me in that pure way I would want to know about it

And this," cried Darcy, as he walked with quick steps across the room, "is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully.

And why love things you were destined to lose? Why let yourself feel things if the feelings were doomed to die?

Anna, are you asleep?" He imagined Anna lying awake, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling, her heart full of yearning, but there was only silence. "I love you, Anna," he whispered, and he hung up the phone.

..and she loved him in that hidden place, where only the Soul knows the secrets of the heart...

...and said with the softness of repressed violence, 'I am not one to stick his neck out; it is a bit of a reach. I was waiting for the smallest sign that you could love me... I never got it.

Apakah kau pernah menunggu seseorang yang kau sukai, berharap dia memperhatikanmu? Berharap suatu hari nanti, dia menyadari bahwa ada seseorang yang menyukainya. Menyukainya diam-diam, sampai akhirnya menyadari bahwa selama ini orang yang disukainya menyayangi orang lain.

Apakah hidup ini akan menjadi membosankan, jika hanya melulu soal patah hati dan perasaan yang tak berbalas?

Are you using me simply as a vulgar tool? Don't you care for me the least little bit? Let me suggest that for a girl in your-your ambiguous position, you are too proud, by several shades. Don't go back to Roger in a hurry! You're not the unspotted maiden you were but two short days ago. Who am I, what am I, to the people whose opinion you care for? A very low fellow, madam; and yet with me you've gone far to cast your lot. If you're not prepared to do more, you should have done less. Nora, Nora," he went on, breaking into a vein none the less revolting for being more ardent, "I confess I don't understand you! But the more you puzzle me the more you fascinate me; and the less you like me the more I love you. What has there been between you and Lawrence? Hang me if I can understand! Are you an angel of purity, or are you the most audacious of flirts?

As he rose to go and held Louise's hand and gazed at her he felt for a moment his old love for her taking possession of his whole being. They looked at each other. I feed upon this looking, thought Clement, but does she? I don't know, and I cannot ask. I am terrified of saying something which would wound our whole precious relationship. We are well as we are. I love her, that's all, that is my drama.

As much as he cared for Kaitlin, he knew that the clan’s survival was much more important that his own heart. Without her, he would be heartbroken all over again. He would lose her just as he had lost Angela with no hope of ever seeing her again, but he could run the clan with a broken heart. He would be a stronger, more feared leader without her, but he was sure that if Kaitlin had known his reasoning, she would have understood. She was the only one to understand him.

Anna and I did not make love. I don't remember why. Maybe we didn't need to. She might have been afraid, although I doubt she was afraid of much. She'd been a midwife before she opened a studio; she'd held life in her hands, like a wire from a galvanic cell. Maybe death was too strong in me for an act so inspirited with life. Although I sometimes think that death is what gives lovemaking its desperate and terrible joy.

Anna loves Ted, but she does not want him in a way that causes her to suffer; she does not want him desperately, despite herself. And it turns out that is how Ted has always wanted to be wanted: the way he has always wanted women. The way Anna wanted Marco, and he wanted Anna, and Rachel (or so it seems, in retrospect) wanted him. In the absence of this painful wanting, Ted has trouble getting hard.

A thousand lips, a thousand eyes, a thousand hearts will read these words, as you read them, graze them, this moment. Thousands will utter them into the abyss, someday, perhaps for years to come; loudly, softly, repeatedly, again and again and again. Some will mock, some will laugh. Some will shed a tear. But it is written only for your lips, your eyes, your heart, beloved. Do as you please. It is written by an ideal heart, intense, yet free, when in thought of you. Written from a dehydrated pen that shed the last drops of her blood, onto you. And still, you do not know me.

As so many commitments demand your time Or your shut-eye important be, Your attraction to me must in some way lack, Such a pity to spend time on thee.

At that moment the ghost dance seems to Zinnia like the relationship of two people who never quite consummate the love they feel for each other.

At the ponds that evening I said to Antonio: "It's always been like that, since we were little: everyone thinks she's bad and I'm good." He kissed me, murmuring ironically, "Why, isn't that true?" That response touched me and kept me from telling him that we had to part. It was a decision that seemed to me urgent, the affection wasn't love, I loved Nino, I knew I would love him forever. I had a gentle speech prepared for Antonio, I wanted to say to him: It's been wonderful, you helped me a lot at a time when I was sad, but now school is starting and this year is going to be difficult, I have new subjects, I'll have to study a lot; I'm sorry but we have to stop. I felt it was necessary and every afternoon I went to our meeting at the ponds with my little speech ready. But he was so affectionate, so passionate, that my courage failed and I put it off.

A person doesn't know true hurt and suffering until they've felt the pain of falling in love with someone whose affections lie elsewhere.

A thousand lips, a thousand eyes, a thousand hearts will read these words, as you read them, graze them, this moment. Thousands will utter them into the abyss, someday, perhaps for years to come; loudly, softly, repeatedly, again and again and again. Some will mock, some will laugh. Some will shed a tear. But it is written only for your lips, your eyes, your heart, beloved. Do as you please. It is written by an ideal heart, intense, yet free, when in thought of you. Written from a dehydrated pen, that shed the last drops of her blood, onto you. And still, you do not know me. No, you will never know of this desire. It is a shame, when love cannot love, who she loves, amidst these mortal games. And No. It is for me to know, and for you to close the last pages of my confessions, making nothing of it. As always, like always, I write for you and for the madness that stirs in every soul that has once burned, and for the tender parts of your soul, too. Nothing is hidden, nothing is revealed. The separation between the soul and mate, between lover and the beloved, is through spirit, is it not, my love? Or is it flesh? There, there is the clue. And this, this is the nature of our love. Forbidden,closed, then left ajar in oblivion. My eyes touch your lips, your eyes touch my lips, yet, no one makes a sound. No one moves on. What madness is this? And here you go, turning the pages now, there you go.

Because by immortalizing the pain of my unrequited love I am letting you go. This is me moving on the only way I know how.

Because I never held you close, I hold you forever.

But he still wished Anna would do something to reassure him—ideally burst into tears and say, You were always there for me, always, and plead with him to forgive her for all her years of neglect—but he'd have settled for even a hint that she intended to make an active effort to meet up.