Friedrich Nietzsche Love Quotations

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

We love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving.

Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler.

It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.

Love matches, so called, have illusion for their father and need for their mother.

When marrying, ask yourself this question: Do you believe that you will be able to converse well with this person into your old age? Everything else in marriage is transitory.

He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either.

Today I love myself as I love my god: who could charge me with a sin today? I know only sins against my god; but who knows my god?

Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.

There is not enough love and goodness in the world to permit giving any of it away to imaginary beings.

Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his own blood.

What do I care about the purring of one who cannot love, like the cat?

A pair of powerful spectacles has sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love.

This is the hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep modest as a giver.

You know these things as thoughts, but your thoughts are not your experiences, they are an echo and after-effect of your experiences: as when your room trembles whe na carriage goes past. I however am sitting in the carriage, and often I am the carriage itself. Ina man who thinks like this, the dichotomy between thinking and feeling, intellect and passion, has really disappeared. He feels his thoughts. He can fall in love with an idea. An idea can make him ill.

To discover he is loved in return ought really to disenchant the lover with the beloved.

Sensuality often makes love grow too quickly, so that the root remains weak and is easy to pull out.

Loving and perishing: it's been a rhyme all these eternities. The will to love: that is, also being willing to die.

I devote myself to what I love the most, and for this very reason I hesitate to designate it with lofty words: I do not want to risk believing that it is a sublime compulsion, a law, which I obey: I love what I love the most too much to wish to appear to it as one compelled.

I feel all those human beings to be pernicious who can no longer oppose what they love: they thereby ruin the best things and people.

What is it that you love in others?--My hopes.

Just as soon as we notice that someone has to force himself to pay attention when dealing and talking with us, we have a valid demonstration that he does not love us or that he does not love us anymore.

The apprentice and the master love the master in different ways.

Every great love brings with it the cruel idea of killing the object of its love so that it may be removed once and for all from the wicked game of change: for love dreads change even more than annihilation.

Sometimes it just takes stronger eyeglasses to cure those who are in love--and someone with the ability to imagine a face or a figure twenty years older might perhaps pass through life quite undisturbed.

In every form of womanly love something of motherly love also comes to light.

Love brings to light the lofty and hidden characteristics of the lover--what is rare and exceptional in him: to that extent it caneasily be deceptive with respect to what is normal in him.

The enormous expectation having to do with sexual love and the shame involved in this expectation degrades all a woman's perspectives from the start.

One must learn to be a sponge if one wants to be loved by hearts that overflow.

Untroubled, scornful, outrageous - that is how wisdom wants us to be: she is a woman and never loves anyone but a warrior.

The spiritualization of sensuality is called love: it is a great triumph over Christianity.

One must learn to love oneself with a wholesome and healthy love, so that one can bear to be with oneself and need not roam.

Love is blind; friendship closes its eyes.

Love is a state in which a man sees things most decidedly as they are not.

Nothing on earth consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment.

There is always some madness in love.

What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives acts and experiences otherwise than we do?

One can promise actions, but not feelings, for the latter are involuntary. He who promises to love forever or hate forever or be forever faithful to someone is promising something that is not in his power.

Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.

Marriages that made out of love (so-called "love-matches") have error as their father and misery (necessity) as their mother.

Love forgives the lover even his lust.

Out of love, women become entirely what it is that they are in the imaginations of the men who love them.

Whatever we have words for, that we have already got beyond.

In true love it is the soul that envelops the body.