"The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound."

Duffy, Maureen on Love
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"We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so forlornly unhappy as when we have lost our love object or its love."

Freud, Sigmund on Love
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"What I needed most was to love and to be loved, eager to be caught. Happily I wrapped those painful bonds around me; and sure enough, I would be lashed with the red-hot pokers or jealousy, by suspicions and fear, by burst of anger and quarrels."

Augustine, St. on Love
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"Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms. I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her."

Neruda, Pablo on Love Ended
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"And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope."

Frost, Robert on Failure
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"No one is more profoundly sad as one who laughs too much."

Paul, Jean on Laughter
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"In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality."

Burroughs, William S. on Grief
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"But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter."

Rimbaud, Arthur on Sorrow
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