If you were to love, love not for the lust that you yearn but the rather the pain that you earn with it. Remember though that the ones who brave the pain are eternally bound in Cupid's chain. It is these chains that many of us fear. The fear of losing the freedom of choosing for self. The fear of placing the needs of our better halves before our own. The fear is understandable for history has taught us to despise and the society has given us the chance to entice. However, if you were to pause and think ever about - love - then do remember that the chain which upon acceptance binds you in amour is the same which upon rejection arrests us to an ague called lonesome depression. Few survive in love, but fewer without it.

If you were to love, love not for the lust that you yearn but the rather the pain that you earn with it.

Lust promises you the world, and disappoints. Love promises you the universe, and delivers.

Desire speaks, passion shouts, lust screams, and love whispers.

Falling in love with a woman’s body is lust, with a woman’s mind is sense, with a woman’s heart is virtue, and with a woman’s soul is wisdom.

Lust makes you weak, passion makes you strong, love makes you brave, and heartache makes you wise.

Passion gives you what you want, lust gives you what you desire, but only love gives you what you need.

There is a very thin line of demarcation dividing true love from unadulterated lust. What is love without the pleasures of the flesh and what is lust sans a fluttering heart?

Pleasure is a kind servant, but a cruel master.

Walking towards love is wiser than falling into it.

Love has no wings, but is an angel. Lust has no horns, but is a devil.

Men feel about sex the way vampires feel about blood. They don't just like it, they crave it. That's why vampire stories always have strong sexual undercurrents. A vampire's hunger is simply a metaphor for a man's lust.

When someone steals your heart not even the law can help you.

Call me obsessed, color me consumedI’ve always been the type to noticeThe smell of a rose in bloom,But let me confess, this is newYou’ve stopped my heart, let it resumeAnd I, to finish, must tell it trueI’m high on your perfume.