An aphorism is nothing else but the slightest
form of writing raised to the highest level of expressive communication. Carl William Brown





Take me to you, imprison me, for I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.


John Donne (1572-1632, British metaphysical poet)


Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us.


George Eliot (1819-1880, British novelist)


I understand by this passion the union of desire, friendship, and tenderness, which is inflamed by a single female, which prefers her to the rest of her sex, and which seeks her possession as the supreme or the sole happiness of our being.


Edward Gibbon (1737-1794, British historian)


There aren't many irritations to match the condescension which a woman metes out to a man who she believes has loved her vainly for the past umpteen years.


Edward Hoagland (1932-, American novelist, essayist)


I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.


Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950, American poet)


One does not kill oneself for love of a woman, but because love -- any love -- reveals us in our nakedness, our misery, our vulnerability, our nothingness.


Cesare Pavese (1908-1950, Italian poet, novelist, translator)


I stalk about her door like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks staying for wattage.


William Shakespeare (1564-1616, British poet, playwright, actor)


Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack,


Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816, Anglo-Irish dramatist)


It is best to love wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.


William M. Thackeray (1811-1863, Indian-born British novelist)


Infatuation is when you think that he's as sexy as Robert Redford, as smart as Henry Kissinger, as noble as Ralph Nader, as funny as Woody Allen, and as athletic as Jimmy Conners. Love is when you realize that he's as sexy as Woody Allen, as smart as Jimmy Conners, as funny as Ralph Nader, as athletic as Henry Kissinger, and nothing like Robert Redford -- but you'll take him anyway.


Judith Viorst (1935-, American poet, journalist)


Men who care passionately for women attach themselves at least as much to the temple and to the accessories of the cult as to their goddess herself.


Marguerite Yourcenar (1903-1987, French novelist)


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