Linux Love

Speaking of love, one problem that recurs more and more frequently these
days, in books and plays and movies, is the inability of people to communicate
with the people they love; Husbands and wives who can't communicate, children
who can't communicate with their parents, and so on.  And the characters in
these books and plays and so on (and in real life, I might add) spend hours
bemoaning the fact that they can't communicate.  I feel that if a person can't
communicate, the very least he can do is to shut up!
                -- Tom Lehrer, "That Was the Year that Was"

Support wildlife -- vote for an orgy.

That is the true season of love, when we believe that we alone can love,
that no one could have loved so before us, and that no one will love
in the same way as us.
                -- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

That's life for you, said McDunn.  Someone always waiting for someone who
never comes home.  Always someone loving something more than that thing loves
them.  And after awhile you want to destroy whatever that thing is, so it
can't hurt you no more.
                -- R. Bradbury, "The Fog Horn"

        The birds are singing, the flowers are budding, and it is time
for Miss Manners to tell young lovers to stop necking in public.
        It's not that Miss Manners is immune to romance.  Miss Manners
has been known to squeeze a gentleman's arm while being helped over a
curb, and, in her wild youth, even to press a dainty slipper against a
foot or two under the dinner table.  Miss Manners also believes that the
sight of people strolling hand in hand or arm in arm or arm in hand
dresses up a city considerably more than the more familiar sight of
people shaking umbrellas at one another.  What Miss Manners objects to
is the kind of activity that frightens the horses on the street...

The giraffe you thought you offended last week is willing to be nuzzled today.

The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.
                -- Blaise Pascal

The heart is wiser than the intellect.

The little pieces of my life I give to you, with love, to make a quilt
to keep away the cold.

The magic of our first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.
                -- Benjamin Disraeli