Sandra > Sandra's Quotes

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“ان كان الحب من ذهب
فالنسيان من ألماس
ثمة رجال يثرونك بخسارتهم”
― أحلام مستغانمي

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”
― Jane Austen, Emma

“But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.”
― Pablo Neruda

“Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.”
― Pablo Neruda

“Christian, you are the state lottery, the cure for cancer, and the three wishes from Aladdin's lamp all rolled into one”
― E.L. James, Fifty Shades Freed

“As if you were on fire from within.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”
― Pablo Neruda

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops to warm themselves at it, and passers-by only see a wisp of smoke”
― Vincent Van Gogh

“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

“So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.”
― John Green, Looking for Alaska

“The town was paper, but the memories were not.”
― John Green, Paper Towns

“Thus they went on living in a reality that was slipping away, momentarily captured by words, but which would escape irremediably when they forgot the values of the written letters.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He had not stopped desiring her for a single instant. He found her in the dark bedrooms of captured towns, especially in the most abject ones, and he would make her materialize in the smell of dry blood on the bandages of the wounded, in the instantaneous terror of the danger of death, at all times and in all places. He had fled from her in an attempt to wipe out her memory, not only through distance but by means of a muddled fury that his companions at arms took to be boldness, but the more her image wallowed in the dunghill of the war, the more the war resembled Amaranta. That was how he suffered in exile, looking for a way of killing her with his own death...”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.”
― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude