Love (n.) is often an assumed emotion we believe we ought to feel, its symptoms imitated so cleverly that the right hand does not know what the left is doing.
Love (n.) gives the real, not merely the ideal, vision of others because it is a glimpse of what we are bodily — complete relationship.
Love (n.) stays transforming until the anxious mind abstracts the relationship and guards it from the rest of life as a possession.
Love (n.) raises the spirit above reverence and worship into laughter and dalliance.
Love (n.) is the fitting feeling, not hate or fear, once the relativity of things is seen strongly enough.
Love (n.) that we ask to be "voluntary" we really want spontaneous: loved because the other cannot help it — and enjoys not helping it.
Love (n.) that is genuine comes from knowledge, not from duty or guilt — ask any invalid mother whose daughter stays home out of obligation and hates her for it.
Love (n.) is demanded of children as if it were voluntary: we insist that you love us because you want to, not because we told you to.
Love (n.) in the mystic's sense is no emotion but the state of a man who has stopped trying to grasp himself and be dictator of the universe.
Love (n.) was, for the ancient initiate, how the gods became your friends and the demons your servants.
Love (n.) of people and possessions brings, in the same moment, anxiety for them.
Love (n.) is not an emotion to be felt and defined but the organizing principle that makes the world a universe and a disintegrated mass a community.
Love (n.) is no problem to achieve: we are love, and the only question is whether it goes straight out like sunlight or turns back on itself like a candle under a bushel.
Love (n.) has no formula and cannot be copied; you cannot talk yourself into it or strain it out of the emotions.
Love (n.) in every shade, from animal lust to divine charity, is what the whole universe is playing at, through and through.
Love (n.) is the gentle way of winning nature — turning with the skid, controlling ourselves by cooperating with ourselves.
Love (n.) of nature and love of spirit may be paths on a circle that meet at their extremes — a meeting found only by those who walk both.
Love (n.) is not a choice between alternatives but a disposition of the heart that radiates on all sides like light — as the sun shines on the evil and the good.
Love (n.) is a spectrum from Freud's libido to Dante's love that moves the stars — colors from a single white light that is also intelligence: Eros, Agape and Logos at once.