Love Stories

The only cure for grief is to grieve. The only cure for hurt is to hurt. Every tear is a tribute. Every tear is a memory, every memory is a treasure.

Love is commitment,' Zak says. 'I don't just mean commitment to a person, I mean commitment to making space for someone in your life and letting them grow and change inside that space and still loving them.

Love breeds love. Big or little, every gesture of love is as worthy and important as another. And maybe the small is actually not so small after all. Sometimes those little gestures are just as life-saving.

The analogy might be that love is like the sun. We cannot look directly at it, but we see our world because of it, and experience its many life-sustaining functions. Essentially, the “teleological” definitions of love point to it nurturing, healing and transforming humans (and societies) into the best versions of themselves

Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.

Love is knowing when you've come home.

Sometimes true love is not saying a single word. Just being there. Sometimes that's the greatest love we can bring someone. Just be quite. Just shut the fuck up and be there.

I believe in dancing badly, farting politely, kissing sloppily, hoping realistically, grieving openly, fishing silently, dreaming wildly, making up quickly, making love slowly, writing daily, whistling hourly, weeping freely, singing loudly, screaming internally, thanking everybody and failing at least once a week. I believe it is good to whisper to plants as long as nobody gets hurt.

Three seconds. A whole world turning in three-second life-units that build upon themselves to form a truly wondrous twenty-four-hour miracle that we so insufficiently call 'Wednesday'.

And then time did what it does so gracefully - it ticked forward.

She realises now that grief is the price she will willingly pay to have loved someone so deeply.

You're on the low side of love but that's still love all the same. Maybe you're lucky to have held a kind of love that makes you feel so low. Some folks feel no side of love at all.

It feels like unrequited love, but it's not because of someone not loving me. It's that they're not here anymore. It's unrequited, but it's not painful in the sense that I love someone and they don't love me back. I love someone, I just can't be with him because he's not here anymore.

She's beautiful, Graeme,' I say. 'I know,' he says, warmly and softly, gently nodding his head, more tears welling in his broken eyes. 'I don't have to see her to know that.

Love is helping others,’ he says. ‘You see someone sad, you lift them up. Buy ’em a cup of coffee. That’s what I do. Don’t leave someone at square one.

Love is a river. Love is a mountain. Love makes you a mountaineer.

Love is lifting your heart up for the ones you love.

Sometimes you don’t have to say anything, you can just feel,

Love is the privilege of being with someone long enough that you’re gradually refining the truths that you tell each other. You feel safe enough to keep showing more and more of yourself to each other.

When life brings you down, love harder. When you’ve been unloved, give love. When love is hard to find, give more love. Double down on love.

I’m a good one,’ she wrote. ‘I won’t be defined by the bad ones.

you have a lot of love in your life, if you put a lot of love out into the world, then love follows you around,’ he says, with a knowing smile. ‘It follows.

I believe in welfare, taxes, death, fate, chance, destiny, happenstance, dumb luck, talking, smelling, seeing, touching, hearing, listening, belonging, holding on, letting go and letting rip. I believe white silk slips look good on anyone and I believe in love.

I believe in standing your ground, running for your life, working, trying, attempting, struggling, losing, healing, winning, ending and always beginning.

someone long enough that you’re gradually refining the truths that you tell each other. You feel safe enough to keep showing more and more of yourself to each other. To me, that’s what love is. It’s not the fireworks and the rainbows and the butterflies. We all keep pieces to ourselves. True love is showing up as yourself.’ And now I know what love is:

To love someone was to step to the precarious edge of hating them, too.

Norm was a member of an exclusive cheap living room club of rapier-witted conversationalists and coffee guzzlers who called themselves the Dawn-Busting Phantoms. ‘The deal with being a member of the Dawn-Busting Phantoms was that you talked all night at someone’s house and you weren’t allowed to go home until the break of dawn.

The bloody pool of War has its ripples. Gordon had no doubt that the blood-pool ripples of war and coming home from war stretched for the next 80 years through my family, sure as they stretched through 80 years of Australian domestic and cultural and social life, generation to generation, husband to wife, father to daughter, father to son.