I ain't acting when I'm on stage. That's why all the little love bugs who'll come and see me at Lovebox love me. They know it's the real me.
I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.
I've always been a fan of advertising, I've always been a fan of television, I've loved commercials, I've loved all the jingles, I loved all the stuff.
A lot of women don't know how to love because there's deep reasons for them not knowing how to love. And what I mean by deep reasons is deep and dark reasons.
The sadness of the women's movement is that they don't allow the necessity of love. See, I don't personally trust any revolution where love is not allowed.
My first love is writing and producing. So I sometimes put my own stuff off to work on other people's projects.
I would rather love and have my heart broken than never have had the feeling of love at all. Without love, what would you live for?
True love is still true, even if you can't live it the way you want to," I told her.
How I love them. How good they are. They endure endless hours of me talking about the future. They keep me near and at the same time bid me farewell. That is what real love is.
I’d row a gondola like a column is not a row. My coffee may be cold, but my love is warm. When are you going to wake up and drink it?
I’d pour the Milky Way in my morning coffee, just to wake up my inner universe. Your love is all the sugar I’d need.
Never forget that solitude is my lot ... I implore those who love me to love my solitude." ( , May 11, 1910)
It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
Love is the best feeling in the universe. Actually, that’s not true. But only because I haven’t been very many places in the universe.
I live a single life. But only because there’s not enough room in my astronaut suit for two. There’s no love on the moon.
Love is like a rain cloud under the dome of an umbrella. But I’m cool with that, because that’s what I call a portable shower.
My voice is raspy, like Rasputin’s beard. My love is like a mustache hidden in a patch of armpit hair. Come, feel what I feel for you.
Love is a bird’s nest of emotion that I used as a basket to store picnic items like apples, cheese, wine, and finger foods like thumbs and pinkies.
Love is a cat wearing a fur coat in a sauna in the middle of the Sahara Desert at noon. Trust me, I speak from personal experience.
There’s a marked difference between Mark Ed and Ed Mark. Same as the difference between making love and loving make—and I do both, for a very reasonable price.
Yesterday I shat rainbows until my anus started bleeding from a unicorn’s horn. Ah, the joys of being in love.
