A recluse without books and ink is already in life a dead man.
Alfred NobelRead
A heart can no more be forced to love than a stomach can be forced to digest food by persuasion.
Interpretation
Love cannot be compelled; it must come naturally and willingly.
This quote metaphorically compares the act of love to the process of digestion, suggesting that just as one cannot force the stomach to digest against its will, one cannot force the heart to love. It underscores the idea that love is a natural, intrinsic emotion that cannot be coerced or manipulated by external pressures or persuasion.
In practice
In a discussion about relationships, one could cite this quote to emphasize the importance of mutual feelings.
A recluse without books and ink is already in life a dead man.
Justice is to be found only in the imagination.
Second to agriculture, humbug is the biggest industry of our age.
The savants will write excellent volumes. There will be laureates. But wars will continue just the same until the forces of the circumstances render them impossible.
I regard large inherited wealth as a misfortune, which merely serves to dull men's faculties. A man who possesses great wealth should, therefore, allow only a small portion to descend to his relatives. Even if he has children, I consider it a mistake to hand over to them considerable sums of money beyond what is necessary for their education. To do so merely encourages laziness and impedes the healthy development of the individual's capacity to make an independent position for himself.
I intend to leave after my death a large fund for the promotion of the peace idea, but I am skeptical as to its results.
There's nothing wrong with being gay, so to deny it is to make a judgment.
I regard as a mortal sin not only the lying of the senses in matters of love, but also the illusion which the senses seek to create where love is only partial. I say, I believe, that one must love with all of one's being, or else live, come what may, a life of complete chastity.
In my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with.
For Chelsea, I would turn down every job in the world.
Since you walked out on me I'm getting lovelier by the hour. I glow like a corpse in the dark. No one sees how round and sharp my eyes have grown how my carcass looks like a glass urn, how I hold up things in the rags of my hands, the way I can stand through crippled by lust. No, there's just your cruelty circling my head like a bright rotting halo.
Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?
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