The bravest things a human being can do is to really love another human being. For it opens you wide to disappointment, to hurt, to failure, to tragedy. It is very hard to run such a risk. Most men and women are not brave enough to run it. Most of us insist on defending ourselves.

And we do not take the risk of loving because we know the odds are not fair. To make a thing of shared joy takes two people, both of whom are willing to give themselves to that common construction or creation. Each knows that at any moment either one of them can ruin it. Each knows that neither one of them can make it beautiful, or good, or joyous alone, but alone either can make it bad, destructive, unhappy.

Practice–your new friendships, hobbies, learning, and other pursuits will not become fun activities unless and until your practice them. Many people miss out on a great deal of enjoyment simply because they never get good enough at anything to relax and appreciate their own efforts.

This is not that same as saying “anything worthwhile is work!” Again, your leisure is to be used for things of your own choosing and things that give you pleasure. However, sometimes initial hurdles must be got over before you get to the pleasurable part. Do not give up too soon!

No Chapter on enjoyment of life can really call itself complete without some mention of love. Love is an instrument like any other thing, and we must play on it with considerate gentleness. Where love exists there is goodness. Does not love shun the World? Two that love must have their substance in isolation. The love of a young girl, with the morning’s mystery about her, there is no pure love, but strong love. Love, however, is a dangerous malady for the middle age.

The love that survives has strangled craving, it lives to nourish and succor like the Heavens. The love that survives has strangled craving; it lives because it lives to nourish and succor like the Heavens. Nature and love are busy in conjunction. Loved played on love in the woman’s breast.

Deep true love, proved by years, is the advocate. Thou that thinkest thyself adored: O Fool! It is not Thou she loveth, but the Difficulty. If immeasurable love were perfect wisdom, one human being might almost impersonate providence to another.

Love is that blessed wand which wins the waters from the hardness of the hearts. The Magnetic Age: the age of violent attractions: when to hear mention of love is dangerous, and to see it, a commination of the malady.

When Nature has made us ripe for love it seldom occurs that the Fates are behindhand in furnishing a temple for the flames. So many admire you, what makes me special, why should I obey and wait for your love when young love has a thousand eyes?

Love is still the cunning musician. Every love tale is an epic war of the upper and lower powers. Love of any human object is the soul’s ordeal. Love the charioteer is easily tripped, while honest jog-trot Love keeps his legs to the end.

Love is love, and every will be, in spite of fathers and mothers. Love, with his accustomed cunning. Love is the death of self. A case of a man who had two loves—a woman and his country; and both true to him. Whoever loved that loved not as first sight?

The wishes of two lovers make a will. Strength in love is the sole sincerity. At the age of forty, men that love love rootedly. If the love is plucked from them, the life goes with it. The Earth has grown weary of the Sun, and turns herself into the shadow, eager for the rest.

The Sun has been too ardent a lover. However, the gazes of the Sun upon the receding Earth are fonder than his look when she raised herself to his bright face. Illusions are the mirror of love.

There is a little god called Love, that will not be worshiped of any leaden brains; on that proclaims himself sole king and emperor of piercing eyes, and chief sovereign of soft hearts.

Many become passionate lovers only to win praise to their wits. Will you cast out the devil whose name is Legion, when you cannot cast out the imp whose name is love? Love cannot exist in a heart that has lost the meek dignity of innocence. You know how foolish those are that love; they are greater fools that do not.

Where pity and admiration meet, love is not far behind. Love is not reason; love is not common sense. ‘Tis a passion. Love takes the deepest root in the steadiest minds. People take high delight in finding out folks in love. Who knows what opportunities a man in love may give against himself?

If I am guilty of a fault in my Universal adorations of the sex, the women in general out to love me the better for it. Love was ever a traitor to its harborer. Love within, and I without, she will be more than woman or I less than man if I succeed not.

Love is ingenious. Love is not naturally a doubter; fear is. An acknowledged love sanctifies every freedom; and one freedom begets another. Smooth love—that is to say, a passion without rubs, a passion without passion—is like a sleepy stream that is hardly seen to give motion to a straw.

True love only wishes; nor has it any active will but that of adorable object. Love is but second to revenge. He can hardly bear your name; yet can think of nobody else. Love never goes backward.

Nothing but the highest act of love can satisfy an indulged love. Those who most love are least set by. Are not lovers’ oaths a jest of hundreds of years’ standing? Love hides a multitude of faults, and diminishes those it cannot hide. Love is allowed to be an excuse for our most unreasonable follies.

Love is always aspiring, always must aspire. Nothing but the highest act of love can satisfy an indulged love. Love satisfied is indifference begun.

Love and compassion are hard to be separated: while anger converts what would be pity, without it, into resentment. How does this damned love unman me! Love is gentler than conscience. Many people have found useful the simply device of intentionally, definitely giving themselves permission to enjoy whatever they are doing.

They may talk to themselves, write a message and stick it up on the bathroom mirror, or ask a friend to reinforce the idea. The method does not matter. What is important is to realize that you may feel unable to enjoy your activities, for any number of reasons, and to get across to yourself the message, “It is OK to relax!” Whatever device you use, it should be something that communicates directly to you—means something in your own head.

The last few years have seen a tremendous response to the motto, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” Perhaps the unspoken second half is, “And tomorrow might be the last!” This is not to advocate a gloomy feeling that we might die at any moment. It is to proclaim that since every life ends sometimes, it is finite, precious, not to be wasted.

Remembering that simple fact can be the best of all possible helps in learning to pick free-time activities that give you pleasure and to enjoy them to the fullest.

I have put up three signs: DO NOT THINK, BE UN-REASON-ABLE, LET MISTAKES GO; THEY WERE NOT WORTH ANYTHING IN THE FIRST PLACE. Maiden, I am no monster, nor a sea animal, but a god; and neither Paris Hilton nor Ryan Phillippe ranks higher than I.

Once I was a mortal, and followed the sea (society) for a living; but now I belong to wholly to it. I plunged for life or death. To interknit one’s sense with so dense a breathing stuff might seem a work of pain, so not enough can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, and buoyant round my limbs.

At first I dwelt whole days and days in sheer astonishment; forgetful utterly or self-intent, moving but with the might ebb and flow. Then like a new-fledged bird that first doth show his spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, I tried in fear the pinions of my will. “Taw freedom! And at once I visited the ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.

As once with prayers in passion flowing, I embraced the stone, till from the frozen marble glowing, the light of feeling over me shone, so did I clasp with young devotion bright nature to a poet’s heart; till breath and warmth and vital motion seemed through the statue from to dart.

And then, in all my ardor sharing, the silent from expression found; returned my kiss of youthful daring, and understoond my heart’s quick sound. Then lived for me the bright creation, the silver rill with song was rife; the trees, the roses shared sensation, an echo of my boundless life.

Love unmans and softens. Love will draw an elephant through a keyhole. I should be ungrateful not to love them for their love. None but the giddy love at first sight.