Love, what is love? I don't think you can really put it into words. Love is understanding someone, caring for him, sharing his joys and sorrows. This eventually includes physical love. You've shared something, given something away and received something in return, whether or not you're married, whether or not you have a baby. Losing your virtue doesn't matter, as long as you know that for as long as you live you'll have someone at your side who understands you, and who doesn't have to be shared with anyone else!
If you're not broadcasting what people feel is their truth as it relates to you, well that becomes a problem. If your not broadcasting how much you love your boyfriend or husband via social media, problems occur in the home and I really think this is happening more than we acknowledge.
You, methinks you think you love me well;
For me, I love you somewhat; rest: and Love
Should have some rest and pleasure in himself,
Not ever be too curious for a boon,
Too prurient for a proof against the grain
Of him ye say ye love: but Fame with men,
Being but ampler means to serve mankind,
Should have small rest or pleasure in herself,
But work as vassal to the larger love,
That dwarfs the petty love of one to one.
If you find a neighbor in need, you're responsible for serving that neighbor in need, you're responsible for loving a neighbor just like you'd like to love yourself.
This has to be your first lesson in sannyas: accept yourself, love yourself, drop all guilt, don`t divide yourself. There is nothing higher, nothing lower; all of you is divine. The lowest is as divine as the highest.
Making money isn't the backbone of our guiding purpose; making money is the by-product of our guiding purpose. If you're doing something you love, you're more likely to put your all into it, and that generally equates to making money
I'm going away," he said. "And I want you to know that I'm coming back. I love you because...." "Don't say anything," Fatima interrupted. "One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.
She dreams of him that has forgot her love; You dote on her that cares not for your love. 'Tis pity love should be so contrary; And thinking of it makes me cry 'alas!