Lover never dies a natural death.

You know you’re in love when you don’t want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. 

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing

I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.

The only thing we never get enough of is love; and the only thing we never give enough of is love.