Luo Love Quotes

I kept my door more securely locked than ever and passed the time with foreign novels. Since Balzac was Luo's favourite I put him to one side, and with the ardour and earnestness of my eighteen years I fell in love with one author after another: Flaubert, Gogol, Melville, and even Romain Rolland.

In any case, right in this moment, the demon was wearing the infinitely lovely face of a cocubine. Being felt up all over by those lovely hands, Shen Qingqiu inevitably became embarrassed, and he involuntarily shrank back a little. This vision—that moment—struck Luo Binghe to his core. Until now, he'd only ever seen Shen Qingqiu's aloof and remote attitude, his derisive expression. But here and now, a faint, uncontrollable red flush formed on that face, and the way those eyes darted away... Also, Shen Qingqiu's upper body was completely bare but for the thin yet unbreakable immortal-binding cable and the red marks it left, and for Shen Qingqiu's long, disheveled, jet-black hair—neither of which concealed anything. Luo Binghe's chest was burning with a convoluted emotion that was impossible to describe.

My sense of self-worth vanished when I was with him. I hated myself for not having seen the movies he mentioned, for not having any decent clothes or shoes, for having no class. I totally messed things up with him. But I couldn't stand somebody who sang the words to Luo Dayou's "Love Song 1990" at the same time he was all hung up on desire and money, because that was an endless blasphemy against beauty.

Rather than returning to school, he drove straight to the psychologist. “You may need a bit of adjustment, but it’s nothing serious,” the doctor said, after listening to his lengthy narrative. “Nothing serious?” Luo Ji opened his bloodshot eyes wide. “I’m madly in love with a fictional person from a novel of my own creation. I’ve been with her, I’ve traveled with her, and I’ve even broken up with my real-life girlfriend over her. Is that nothing serious to you?” The doctor smiled tolerantly. “Don’t you get it? I’ve given my most profound love to an illusion!” “Are you under the impression that the object of everyone else’s love actually exists?” “Is that even a question?” “Sure. For the majority of people, what they love exists only in the imagination. The object of their love is not the man or woman of reality, but what he or she is like in their imagination. The person in reality is just a template used for the creation of this dream lover. Eventually, they find out the differences between their dream lover and the template. If they can get used to those differences, then they can be together. If not, they split up. It’s as simple as that. You differ from the majority in one respect: You didn’t need a template.” “So this isn’t a sickness?” “Only in the way your girlfriend pointed out: You’ve got natural literary talent. If you want to call that a sickness, go right ahead.” “But isn’t imagining to this degree a little excessive?” “There’s nothing excessive about imagination. Especially where love is concerned.” “So what should I do? How can I forget about her?” “It’s impossible. You can’t forget her, so don’t make the effort. That will only lead to side effects, and maybe even mental disorders. Let nature take its course. Once more, for emphasis: Don’t try to forget about her. It won’t work. But as time passes, her influence on your life will decrease. And you’re actually quite lucky. Whether or not she really exists, you’re fortunate to be in love.” This

Luo Ji gripped tightly to the match with two fingers as it burnt down. He needed the pain to know that this wasn't a dream. It was like he had ignited the sun, which now shone on a dream world turned reality. Outside, the sun could remain forever hidden by clouds and night, so long as his world had her, and the firelight in it.

Before going back inside, Luo Ji took one last look at the silver Garden of Eden, and his heart said to Zhuang Yan and Xia Xia, My love, wait for me at doomsday.

Nothing serious?” Luo Ji opened his bloodshot eyes wide. “I’m madly in love with a fictional person from a novel of my own creation. I’ve been with her, I’ve traveled with her, and I’ve even broken up with my real-life girlfriend over her. Is that nothing serious to you?” The doctor smiled tolerantly. “Don’t you get it? I’ve given my most profound love to an illusion!” “Are you under the impression that the object of everyone else’s love actually exists?” “Is that even a question?” “Sure. For the majority of people, what they love exists only in the imagination. The object of their love is not the man or woman of reality, but what he or she is like in their imagination. The person in reality is just a template used for the creation of this dream lover. Eventually, they find out the differences between their dream lover and the template. If they can get used to those differences, then they can be together. If not, they split up. It’s as simple as that. You differ from the majority in one respect: You didn’t need a template.