Unreciprocated Love Quotes

Love is elixir that keeps you alive. Love is poison that kills you. Unreciprocated love keeps you alive, but kills every day.

Love is the one thing in this world that you should never have to go through alone… For unreciprocated love is the most soul crushing experience you will ever go through.

Don't cry for someone who would love smiling when your tears are flowing.

Be nice to people... maybe it'll be unappreciated, unreciprocated, or ignored, but spread the love anyway. We rise by lifting others.

Have you ever felt like begging someone not to let you go but deep down you've always known he doesn't really care one way or the other if you're there or not?

I am sleeping with unreciprocated love, while the arms of hope wrap around me.

When you find that rare person who really knows who you are, and they still don't love you.

The arrogance of wanting to be loved had emerged only now it was unreciprocated—I was left alone with my desire, defenseless, beyond the law, shockingly crude in my demands: Love me! And for what reason? I had only the usual paltry, insufficient excuse: Because I love you . .

You've obviously never been in love." "I have actually. And awfully. And—always—without hope—I've never had my love reciprocated ever.

She's like a sentence I never heard. 'Come again,' I said.

I crave for love, everybody does . . . and I've never had a bloody crumb of it—and I've given so much love to people—I can really love people, I can, I let them walk over me—but nobody's ever loved me.

When love remains unreciprocated for too long, a particular agony can descend. We are haunted by a sense of all that might have been.

When I thought about how much time I had already put into a relationship without reciprocation from the other person and how I spent YEARS recovering and trying to recover from the damage of her verbal, emotional and physical abuse and neglect, I realized that I was the only one trying and I wasn’t the problem! That understanding changed everything!

But here lies the rub: she’s all I think about. She’s the only person I want to spend time with. I’m fascinated by every little thing she does. And the fact of the matter is, I’m in love with her. Heartbreakingly, soul-wrenchingly, earth-shatteringly in love with her. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt before. And I need her to love me back more than I need to take my next breath. I can’t imagine a greater agony than this big, pulsing, fierce love I have for her being unreciprocated. I would rather take a hundred blows to the head out on the field, suffer a thousand concussions, than not have her beside me for the rest of my life.

I want to die because I love you. I don't want to die because I love you.

Oh pillow, please continue to kiss my cheek round. I'll let you listen to my dreams to see the girl you'll never meet.

If only I'd done it then, when I should have, everything would have been easy. What a joke.

If you're like me you struggle with walking away from situations that aren't healthy for you If you're like me it is hard to see the line between I care for you and I will put your needs before mine until my feet are blistered from racing to catch you every time you fall If you're like me then listen Walking away from situations that are hurting you does not mean that you are heartless It means that you have outgrown the shoes you've been using to chase unreciprocated love It means that you are learning to value yourself You have not lost your capacity to love You are discovering how to love you.

You are the silence of my thoughts, the alleyways of my brain, the thought in between other thoughts that live, the space between every look I give. In split seconds of my mortality, there you are - my sweet neutrality.

This world is erected upon the principle of reciprocity. Neither a drop of kindness nor a speck of evil will remain unreciprocated. Fear not the plots, deceptions, or tricks of other people. If somebody is setting a trap, remember, so is God. He is the biggest plotter. Not even a leaf stirs outsides God's knowledge. Simply and fully believe in that. Whatever God does, He does beautifully.

I smiled and looked at her- there she was with such a genuine grin and twinkle in her eyes. I kissed my mother on her forehead and took a long look in to her hazel eyes. I wondered when I would have the next chance to see her as I whispered, 'I love you." Mother didn't respond. She didn't look well- she had a tint of green and yellow to her skin and her thinning hair was a dull salt and pepper color, cut extra short and clinging to her scalp. She had no makeup on, which told me she just had no more energy. I began to walk out of her room and turned to look at her. I wanted to run up to her, shake her, and beg her to tell me she loved me and was proud of me. But when I looked at her, she was already sleeping.

I was just singing and you didn't need to sing back - but I caught you dancing.

Goodbye, but wave to me not! I cannot wallow seeing your hand unaccompanied, like an unclothed child deserving supplement.

How can you make someone love you when they won't? And what if that person happens to be your mother?

Life would be enough to know what you do in a day.

My affection for you is attached to whatever self I possess -- an inherent, eternal synchronization... an automatic response to living... transforming from hit to misses, from Ms. to Mrs...

It occurred to him now to ask himself if this was how it happened : was it possible that the mere fact of using one's hands and investing one's attention in someone other than oneself, created a pride and tenderness that had nothing whatever to do with the response of the object of one's care - just as a craftsman's love for his handiwork is in no way diminished by the fact of it being unreciprocated?

I had not chosen to be single but love is rare and it is frequently unreciprocated. Without love I saw no reason to form a permanent attachment to any particular place. Love determined how humans arrayed themselves in space. Because it affixed people into their long-term arrangements, those around me viewed it as an eschatological event, messianic in its totality. My friends expressed a religious belief that it would arrive for me one day, as if love were something the universe owed to each of us, which no human could escape. I had known love, but having known love I knew how powerless I was to instigate it or ensure its duration. Still, I nurtured my idea of the future, which I thought of as the default denouement of my sexuality, and a destiny rather than a choice. The vision remained suspended, jewel-like in my mind, impervious to the storms of my actual experience, a crystalline point of arrival. But I knew that it did not arrive for everyone, and as I got older I began to worry that it would not arrive for me.

Dear Alien, Thank you for asking. Here on my earth, unlove is among the deepest loves to give a person. It touches us in a way no other pain could reach. For as long as breath comes, the possibility of heart correspondence may come too. For the rest of our lives, we are left with the unknown, sailing in a sea of doubt contaminated with hope - scattered and shattered over nothing that mattered. In the world of unlove, fire thrives from the cold. After they've left, our brains speculate how that person is doing. Departure never really exists. It's almost like leaving a person ensures you'll always be with them. Hope I answered your question. Mine for you: how is she? Curiously, KKF

He became so gloomy that she asked him, at last, if he was worried about anything. He assured her, instantly, that he was the happiest man in the world. And he was. At times he was almost bewildered by his own bliss in being there, with Tony, so terribly dear, beside him; really his own for the rest of his life. It was not her fault if the insatiable sorrows of an unequal love tormented him, the hungry demand for more, for a fuller return, for a feeling which it was not in her nature to give. As she leaned forward, absorbed in the passions staged beneath her, he felt suddenly that their box contained just himself and a wraith, a ghost; as if the real Antonia, whom he loved, was an imagined woman living only in his sad fancy.

This world is erected upon the principle of reciprocity. Neither a drop of kindness nor a speck of evil will remain unreciprocated. Fear not the plots, deceptions, or tricks of other people. If somebody is setting a trap, remember, so is God. He is the biggest plotter. Not even a leaf stirs outside God's knowledge. Simply and fully believe in that. Whatever God does, He does beautifully.

While women suffer from our relative lack of power in the world and often resent it, certain dimensions of this powerlessness may seem abstract and remote. We know, for example, that we rarely get to make the laws or direct the major financial institutions. But Wall Street and the U.S. Congress seem very far away. The power a woman feels in herself to heal and sustain, on the other hand--"the power of love"--is, once again, concrete and very near: It is like a field of force emanating from within herself, a great river flowing outward from her very person. Thus, a complex and contradictory female subjectivity is constructed within the relations of caregiving. Here, as elsewhere, women are affirmed in some way and diminished in others, this within the unity of a single act. The woman who provides a man with largely unreciprocated emotional sustenance accords him status and pays him homage; she agrees to the unspoken proposition that his doings are important enough to deserve substantially more attention than her own. But even as the man's supremacy in the relationship is tacitly assumed by both parties to the transaction, the man reveals himself to his caregiver as vulnerable and insecure. And while she may well be ethically and epistemically disempowered by the care she gives, this caregiving affords her a feeling that a mighty power resides within her being. The situation of those men in the hierarchy of gender who avail themselves of female tenderness is not thereby altered: Their superordinate position is neither abandoned, nor their male privilege relinquished. The vulnerability these men exhibit is not a prelude in any way to their loss of male privilege or to an elevation in the status of women. Similarly, the feeling that one's love is a mighty force for the good in the life of the beloved doesn't make it so, as Milena Jesenka found, to her sorrow. The feeling of out-flowing personal power so characteristic of the caregiving woman is quite different from the having of any actual power in the world. There is no doubt that this sense of personal efficacy provides some compensation for the extra-domestic power women are typically denied: If one cannot be a king oneself, being a confidante of kings may be the next best thing. But just as we make a bad bargain in accepting an occasional Valentine in lieu of the sustained attention we deserve, we are ill advised to settle for a mere feeling of power, however heady and intoxicating it may be, in place of the effective power we have every right to exercise in the world.

Based on a 1934 play by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart, Merrily We Roll Along tells the story of three friends—Franklin Shepard, a composer; Charley Kringas, a playwright and lyricist; and Mary Flynn, a novelist—who meet in the enthusiasm of youth, when everything seems possible. The play traces what happens to their dreams and goals as time passes and they are faced with life’s surprises, travails, successes, and disappointments. The trick here is that the play moves chronologically backward. It begins on an evening in 1976 at a party for the opening of a movie Frank has produced. The movie is apparently a hit, but Frank’s personal life is a mess. His second wife, Gussie, formerly a Broadway star, was supposed to have starred in the movie but was deemed too old; she resents being in the shadows and suspects, correctly, that Frank is having an affair with the young actress who took over her part. Frank is estranged from his son from his first marriage. He is also estranged from Charley, his former writing partner—so estranged, in fact, that the very mention of his name brings the party to an uncomfortable standstill. Mary, unable to re-create the success of her one and only novel and suffering from a longtime unreciprocated love for Frank, has become a critic and a drunk; the disturbance she causes at the party results in a permanent break with Frank. The opening scene reaches its climax when Gussie throws iodine in the eyes of Frank’s mistress. The ensemble, commenting on the action much like the Greek chorus in Allegro, reprises the title song, asking, “How did you get to be here? / What was the moment?” (F 387). The play then moves backward in time as it looks for the turning points, the places where multiple possibilities morphed into narrative necessity.

This world is erected upon the principle of reciprocity. Neither a drop of kindness nor a speck of evil will remain unreciprocated. Fear not the plots, deceptions, or tricks of other people. If somebody is setting a trap, remember, so is God. He is the biggest plotter. Not even a leaf stirs outside God’s knowledge. Simply and fully believe in that. Whatever God does, He does beautifully.

If only she would let me talk to her! I'm sure I could change her mind...That's what is needed, to change her mind. But how?

As Peyton got to his feet, he thought it was a sad commentary on your life when an interruption requiring you to justify an unjustifiable action was a step up from your other option—which happened to be a lively discussion about unrequited love with the object of your unreciprocated affections.

This world is erected upon the principle of reciprocity. Neither a drop of kindness nor a speck of evil will remain unreciprocated. Fear not the plots, deceptions, or tricks of other people. If somebody is setting a trap, remember, so is God. He is the biggest plotter. Not even a leaf stirs outside God’s knowledge. Simply and fully believe in that. Whatever God does, He does beautifully

In fact, Leona's choice of romantic partner would be one decision that would have been questioned profusely because her relationship with Darin, whichever way Leona looked at it, was a complete and utter mess held delicately together by the unreciprocated ribbons of love that exuded from Leona's rejected, unwanted, tolerated broken heart.

   That night I spent in turmoil. Fitfully, I slept, I woke up, I slept again, and every time I slept I kept on dreaming of Micòl.    I dreamt, for example, of finding myself, just like that very first day I set foot in the garden, watching her play tennis with Alberto. Even in the dream I never took my eyes off her for a second. I kept on telling myself how wonderful she was, flushed and covered with sweat, with that frown of almost fierce concentration that divided her forehead, all tensed up as she was with the effort to beat her smiling, slightly bored and sluggish older brother. Yet then I felt oppressed by an uneasiness, an embittered feeling, an almost unbearable ache.

Seeing him loosen the tight grip of his palms sedates me again... seeing him grip it back in place, tighter this time, writes me off again.

Her daughter has not answered her phone in two days. And there is no way to know if the silence means that she has caught the sickness, or if it is only proof of the natural order of things: how parents are always so much more focussed on their children than the other way around.

It was 25 Long Years Ago I threw away the good gifts that God sent my way Because my heart and mind were hung up on What I didn’t have, couldn’t have, or wouldn’t ever have. My heart, entangled in longing, couldn't escape the snare, Loving you was a torment but a burden I loved to bear. Damn, my heart… Damn my soul Why did I fall so much in love with you? It’s going to be 25 long years soon Since our paths first crossed But your memories are so firmly embossed in my heart. Those fluttering sensations, like butterflies in flight, Still reside within me, igniting a warm, gentle light. That one moment when our eyes accidentally met There were so many things my heart could never forget, A silent connection, emotions so hard to suppress, In that fleeting gaze, love's sweet caress. I dreamt of a future when we'd finally unite, But life's plan took a different route, an unexpected flight. We never met again; our paths diverged and parted, Leaving behind cherished memories, though we never officially started. Now, we both have different lives, But in the quiet domain of my heart, my unrequited love still survives, What if my love remained unreciprocated? A question that lingers in memories, fated. I cherish that one single day when we met, With regrets unabated. My love for you knows no boundaries, It may be unrequited, but It’s timeless, boundless, and endless for all eternity.