“True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well-being of one’s companion.”
– Gordon B. Hinckley

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True Love Is Not So Much a Matter Of Romance

“and he suddenly knew that if she killed herself, he would die. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with the same blinding rush of pain, but it would happen. You couldn’t live for very long without a heart.”
– Jodi Picoult

“Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it’s just another way to bleed.”
– Laurell K. Hamilton

“The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.”
– Jodi Picoult

“She wanted something else, something different, something more. Passion and romance, perhaps, or maybe quiet conversations in candlelit rooms, or perhaps something as simple as not being second.”
– Nicholas Sparks

“That’s what people do who love you. They put their arms around you and love you when you’re not so lovable.”
– Deb Caletti

“Wherever you will go, I will let you down, But this lullaby goes on.”
– Sarah Dessen

“I belong to my beloved, and my beloved is mine.”
– Jamie McGuire

“I think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn’t that dumb? But it was like I knew her. Like she was my oldest, dearest friend. The kind of person you can tell anything to, no matter how bad, and they’ll still love you, because they know you. I wanted to go with her. I wanted her to notice me. And then she stopped walking. Under the moon, she stopped. And looked at us. She looked at me. Maybe she was trying to tell me something; I don’t know. She probably didn’t even know I was there. But I’ll always love her. All my life.”
– Neil Gaiman

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring barque,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
–  William Shakespeare