Pidgin English Love Quotes

#1. The Russians were unparalleled in their suffering, the English in their reserve, the Americans in their love of life, the Italians in their love of Christ, and the French in their hope of love. #Quote by Paullina Simons

#2. Hayati?"

"Yeah, that one. What does it mean?"

He was quiet for so long she had started to think he'd never answer. "There is no English translation for this name," he finally said.

She smiled. "Try. Get as close as you can."

His dark eyes searched her gaze. "It means, my life."

Her forehead wrinkled. "My life?"

Hani pulled her head down and forced her to rest against his chest. He said nothing for a suspended moment and then, "My life," he murmured. "My love. #Quote by Jaid Black

#3. I grew up in a very British family who had been transplanted to Canada, and my grandmother's house was filled with English books. I was a very early reader, so I was really brought up being surrounded with piles of British books and British newspapers, British magazines. I developed a really great love of England. #Quote by Alan Bradley

#4. Children inherit the qualities of the parents, no less than their physical features. Environment does play an important part, but the original capital on which a child starts in life is inherited from its ancestors. I have also seen children successfully surmounting the effects of an evil inheritance. That is due to purity being an inherent attribute of the soul.

Polak and I had often very heated discussions about the desirability or otherwise of giving the children an English education. It has always been my conviction that Indian parents who train their children to think and talk in English from their infancy betray their children and their country. They deprive them of the spiritual and social heritage of the nation, and render them to that extent unfit for the service of the country. Having these convictions, I made a point of always talking to my children in Gujarati. Polak never liked this. He thought I was spoiling their future. He contended, with all the vigour and love at his command, that, if children were to learn a universal language like English from their infancy, they would easily gain considerable advantage over others in the race of life. He failed to convince me. I do not now remember whether I convinced him of the correctness of my attitude, or whether he gave me up as too obstinate. This happened about twenty years ago, and my convictions have only deepened with experience. Though my sons have suffered for want of full literary education, the kn #Quote by Mahatma Gandhi

#5. When Caroline Walker fell in love with Julian English she was a little tired of him. That was in the summer of 1926, one of the most unimportant years in the history of the United States, and the year in which Caroline Walker was sure her life had reached a pinnacle of uselessness. #Quote by John O'Hara

#6. Shakespeare's plays do not present easy solutions. The audience has to decide for itself. King Lear is perhaps the most disturbing in this respect. One of the key words of the whole play is 'Nothing'. When King Lear's daughter Cordelia announces that she can say 'Nothing' about her love for her father, the ties of family love fall apart, taking the king from the height of power to the limits of endurance, reduced to 'nothing' but 'a poor bare forked animal'. Here, instead of 'readiness' to accept any challenge, the young Edgar says 'Ripeness is all'. This is a maturity that comes of learning from experience. But, just as the audience begins to see hope in a desperate and violent situation, it learns that things can always get worse:

Who is't can say 'I am at the worst?'
… The worst is not
So long as we can say 'This is the worst.'

Shakespeare is exploring and redefining the geography of the human soul, taking his characters and his audience further than any other writer into the depths of human behaviour. The range of his plays covers all the 'form and pressure' of mankind in the modern world. They move from politics to family, from social to personal, from public to private. He imposed no fixed moral, no unalterable code of behaviour. That would come to English society many years after Shakespeare's death, and after the tragic hypothesis of Hamlet was fulfilled in 1649, when the people killed the King and replaced his rule with the Commonwealt #Quote by Ronald Carter

#7. I have been thinking for some time of writing a piece called: In Pursuit of the Working-Class. My life has been spent in pursuit. So has everyone's, of course. I chase love and fame all the time. I have chased, off and on, and with much greater deviousness of approach, the working-class and the English. The pursuit of the working-class is shared by everyone with the faintest tint of social responsibility: some of the most indefatigable pursuers are working-class people. That is because the phrase does n #Quote by Doris Lessing

#8. English churchmen have long gazed with love on the primitive church as the ideal of Christian perfection, the Eden wherein the first fathers of their faith walked blameless before God and passionless towards each other. #Quote by Sabine Baring-Gould

#9. The English lord marries for love, and is rather inclined to love where money is. #Quote by Nancy Mitford

#10. Yandex translation from Croatian to English: Nomadom was the time when the ratio of beauty began to think about how about love than between two parts, in which opposites attract only magical powers, and the same ratio is equal to the lords and architecture and nature. #Quote by Jasna Horvat

#11. Besides, she had survived the searingly hot nights, when sleep was rendered impossible, by reading a miasma of English novels by Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters. They had served to fire her belief that 'true love' would one day be found. #Quote by Lucinda Riley

#12. Love is the most overused word in the English Language. It's confusing to everyone. Some people live their whole lives and never get it right. #Quote by Jamie McGuire

#13. Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom. #Quote by Vladimir Nabokov

#14. it's a terrible feeling when you first fall in love. your mind gets completely taken over, you can't function properly anymore. the world turns into a dream place, nothing seems real. you forget your keys, no one seems to be talking English and even if they are you don't care as you can't hear what they're saying anyway, and it doesn't matter since your not really there. things you cared about before don't seem to matter anymore and things you didn't think you cared about suddenly do. I must become a brilliant cook, I don't want to waste time seeing my friends when I could be with him, I feel no sympathy for all those people in India killed by an earthquake last night; what is the matter with me? It's a kind of hell, but you feel like your in heaven.
even your body goes out of control, you can't eat, you don't sleep properly, your legs turn to jelly as your not sure where the floor is anymore. you have butterflies permanently, not only in your tummy but all over your body - your hands, your shoulders, your chest, your eyes everything's just a jangling mess of nerve endings tingling with fire. it makes you feel so alive. and yet its like being suffocated, you don't seem to be able to see or hear anything real anymore, its like people are speaking to you through treacle, and so you stay in your cosy place with him, the place that only you two understand. occasionally your forced to come up for air by your biggest enemy, Real Life, so you do the minimum then head back down #Quote by Annabel Giles

#15. I know I am flaky, I accept that - and I know, as well, that I can mangle the good king's English like no one else in my or the next ten governesses' acquaintances, but that will not prevent me from speaking! I may not be as wise as you in the ways of the world, I may not have wounds that run as deeply or scars to wear upon my chest like medals of valor, but at least I don't retreat and hide the moment a soul comes within reach of my fingers! #Quote by V.S. Carnes

#16. This was because their English teachers would wince and cover their ears and give them flunking grades and so on whenever they failed to speak like English aristocrats before the First World War. Also: they were told that they were unworthy to speak or write their language if they couldn't love or understand incomprehensible novels and poems and plays about people long ago and far away, such as Ivanhoe. *** The black people would not put up with this. They went on talking English every which way. They refused to read books they couldn't understand - on the grounds they couldn't understand them. They would ask such impudent questions as, Whuffo I want to read no Tale of Two Cities? Whuffo? #Quote by Kurt Vonnegut

#17. MINION LANGUAGE
English minions

hello! bello
goodbye! poopaye
thankyou! tank yu
I'm hungry me want banana
ugly bananonina
I swear... underwear
fire! bee do bee do bee do
we love you tulaliloo ti amo
I hate you tatata bala tu
for you para tu
toy baboi
chair chasy
what poka
apple bable
ice cream gelato
butt butt
one hana
two dul
three sae #Quote by Idontknow

#18. I was getting what I had always wanted, him wanting me. #Quote by C.J. English

#19. Inferiority is not banal or incidental even when it happens to women. It is not a petty affliction like bad skin or
circles under the eyes. It is not a superficial flaw in an otherwise
perfect picture. It is not a minor irritation, nor is it a trivial
inconvenience, an occasional aggravation, or a regrettable but
(frankly) harmless lapse in manners. It is not a "point of view"
that some people with soft skins find " offensive. " It is the deep
and destructive devaluing of a person in life, a shredding of dignity and self-respect, an imposed exile from human worth
and human recognition, the forced alienation of a person from
even the possibility of wholeness or internal integrity. Inferiority
puts rightful self-love beyond reach, a dream fragmented by
insult into a perpetually recurring nightmare; inferiority creates
a person broken and humiliated inside. The fragments -
scattered pieces and sharp slivers of someone who can never
be made whole - are then taken to be the standard of what is
normal in her kind: women are like that. The insult that hurt
her - inferiority as an assault, ongoing since birth - is seen as a
consequence, not a cause, of her so-called nature, an inferior nature. In English, a graceful language, she is even called a
piece. It is likely to be her personal experience that she is insufficiently
loved. Her subjectivity itself is second-class, her experiences
and #Quote by Andrea Dworkin

#20. Now I am writing this diary in English, which for me is not the language of intimacy or love, but an attempt at distance and sanity, a means of recalling normality. #Quote by Jasmina Tesanovic

#21. I will love you, my English rose, and you will fill my French dreams #Quote by Melissa De La Cruz

#22. More of a QUESTION: When I was in high school in the 1980's I read a book but cannot remember the name. It had a spooky green cover with a german shepherd like dog on it and I seem to remember it being about ghosts or something in the English countryside -although it could have been Irish or Wales or Scottish. Does anyone else remember this book and can you tell me the name? I would love to reread it since it set me on my path to my LOVE if reading. #Quote by M.D. Robinson

#23. Friedrich, why didn't you..."

"Ah, heaven, she gifs me the name that no one speaks since Minna died!" cried the Professor, pausing in a puddle to regard her with grateful delight.

"I always call you so to myself––I forgot, but I won't unless you like it."

"Like it? It is more sweet to me than I can tell. Say 'thou', also, and I shall say your language is almost as beautiful as mine."

"Isn't 'thou' a little sentimental?" asked Jo, privately thinking it a lovely monosyllable.

"Sentimental? Yes. Thank Gott, we Germans believe in sentiment, and keep ourselves young mit it. Your English 'you' is so cold, say 'thou', heart's dearest, it means so much to me," pleaded Mr. Bhaer, more like a romantic student than a grave professor. #Quote by Louisa May Alcott

#24. I hope you will be surprised and knowing at once. I hope you'll always have love. I hope you'll always have a good sense of humour. I hope when people ask what you're going to do with your English and/or creative writing degree you'll say: Continue my bookish examination of the contradictions and complexities of human motivation and desire; or maybe just: Carry it with me, as I do everything that matters. #Quote by Cheryl Strayed

#25. It's incredible how small the English language gets when you're trying to make it fix something. #Quote by Corey Ann Haydu

#26. I look at the white woman's cards and listen to her bold English words - dog, cat, house - and there is all the evidence of what is to come in my life. I am not to go the way of the two people I long for in the thick terror of the night. The first man I love and the first woman I adore, my father and my mother with their Spanish words, are not in these cards. The road before me is English and the next part too awful to ask aloud or even silently: What is so wrong with my parents that I am not to mimic their hands, their needs, not even their words? #Quote by Daisy Hernandez

#27. I was also in love with the English language. #Quote by Dick Schaap

#28. It's so English to hate L.A. I'd like to say I love it, but I don't. It's such a weird place. If it were my choice, I wouldn't spend a day there. Everything shuts at 11. And everyone thinks they're so crazy and wild and liberal, and they're not! #Quote by Amelia Warner

#29. Truth About Love"

I apologize for not being Gandhi or Tom
the mailman who is always kind.

He makes his way every day no matter
the mood of the sky with our words

in a sack and Gandhi made the English
give India back without

taking a gun for a wife. My contribution
to the common good is playing

with the alphabet in a little room
while the world goes foraging

for food. I'm a better poet than man
and it's well known how little

my verbs are worth. I am my only subject,
being the god of my horizons.

What saves me is that just beyond my skin
the world of yours is where

I'd rather live. The AMA says you've added
seven point six years to my life.

In a phrase, love is a transfer of wealth.
This is why Adam Smith gave up

romantic verse. In trying to say what can't
be said I'll take the Dragnet

approach. Just the facts. I'd be dead
sooner without you, you'll die faster

for being a Mrs., raw deal can't be more
clearly defined. To make amends

I offer ten percent more kisses each year.
Or do I do more harm the closer

we become? If yes, leaving would be love
and a better man might. But my thrills

are selfishly domestic. I like sweeping words
into piles and whispering good night. #Quote by Bob Hicok

#30. I love English, though I now call it 'Anglo- American' because we no longer speak British English due to globalization and America's economic power. #Quote by Maurice Druon

#31. The two most misused words in the entire English vocabulary are love and friendship. A true friend would die for you, so when you start trying to count them on one hand, you don't need any fingers. #Quote by Larry Flynt

#32. The problem with being ravished by books at an early age is that later rereadings are often likely to disappoint. "The sharp luscious flavor, the fine aroma is fled," Hazlitt wrote, "and nothing but the stalk, the bran, the husk of literature is left." Terrible words, but it can happen. You become harder to move, frighten, arouse, provoke, jangle. Your education becomes an interrogation lamp under which the hapless book, its every wart and scar exposed, confesses its guilty secrets: "My characters are wooden! My plot creaks! I am pre-feminist, pre-deconstructivist, and pre-postcolonialist!" (The upside of English classes is that they give you critical tools, some of which are useful, but the downside is that those tools make you less able to shower your books with unconditional love. Conditions are the very thing you're asked to learn.) You read too many other books, and the currency of each one becomes debased. #Quote by Anne Fadiman

#33. The author of the quaint old English classic, The Cloud of Unknowing, teaches us how to do this. Lift up thine heart unto God with a meek stirring of love; and mean Himself, and none of His goods. And thereto, look thee loath to think on aught but God Himself. So that nought work in thy wit, nor in thy will, but only God Himself. This is the work of the soul that most pleaseth God. #Quote by A.W. Tozer

#34. Don't think, muñeca. Everything will work itself out."
"But--"
"No buts. Trust me." My mouth closes over hers. The smell of rain and cookies eases my nerves.
My hand braces the small of her back. Her hands grip my soaked shoulders, urging me on. My hands slide under her shirt, and my fingers trace her belly button.
"Come to me," I say, then lift her until she's straddling me over my bike.
I can't stop kissing her. I whisper how good she feels to me, mixing Spanish and English with every sentence. I move my lips down her neck and linger there until she leans back and lets me take her shirt off. I can make her forget about the bad stuff. When we're together like this, hell, I can't think of anything else but her.
"I'm losing control," she admits, biting her lower lip. I love those lips.
"Mamacita, I've already lost it," I say, grinding against her so she knows exactly how much control I've lost.
She moves her hips in a slow rhythm against me, an invitation I don't deserve. My fingertips graze her mouth. She kisses them before I slowly slide my hand down her chin to her neck and in between her breasts.
She catches my hand. "I don't want to stop, Alex."
I cover her body with mine.
I can easily take her. Hell, she's asking for it. But God help me if I don't grow a conscience.
It's that loco bet I made with Lucky. And what my mom said about how easy it is to get a girl pregnant.
When I made the bet, I had no feelings #Quote by Simone Elkeles

#35. I am the granddaughter of an English woman. I love England and her people and, regardless of politics, consider you to be family ... and always will. #Quote by Nicola Sturgeon

#36. On Becoming a Poet in the 1950s"

There was love and there was trees.
Either you could stay inside and probe your emotions
or you could go outside and keenly observe nature.
Describe the sheen on carapaces,
the effect of breeze on grass.

What's the fag doing now? Dad would say.
Picking the nose of his heart?
Wanking off on a daffodil?

He's not homosexual, Mom would retort, using her apron as a potholder to
remove the apple brown betty from the oven.
He's sensitive. He cares.
He wishes to impart values and standards to an indifferent world.

Wow! said Dad, stomping off to the pantry for another scotch. Two poets in
the family. Ain't I a lucky duck?

As fate would have it, I became one of your tweedy English teachers, what
Dad would call a daffodil-wanker,
and Mom ended up doing needlepoint, seventy-two kneelers for St. Fred's
before she expired of the heart broken on the afternoon that Dad
roared off with the Hell's Angels.
We heard a little from Big Sur. A beard. Tattoos. A girlfriend named Strawberry.
A boyfriend named Thor.
Bars and pot and coffeehouses, stuff like that.

After years of quotation by younger poets, admiration but no real notice,
Dad is making the anthologies now.
Critics cite his primal rage, the way he nails Winnetka. #Quote by Stephen Beal

#37. Haunting the library as a kid, reading poetry books when I was not reading bird books, I had been astonished at how often birds were mentioned in British poetry. Songsters like nightingales and Sky Larks appeared in literally dozens of works, going back beyond Shakespeare, back beyond Chaucer. Entire poems dedicated to such birds were written by Tennyson, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and many lesser-known poets. I had run across half a dozen British poems just about Sky Larks; Thomas Hardy had even written a poem about Shelley's poem about the Sky Lark. The love of birds and of the English language were intermingled in British literary history.
Somehow we Americans had failed to import this English love of birds along with the language, except in diluted form. But we had imported a few of the English birds themselves - along with birds from practically everywhere else. #Quote by Kenn Kaufman

#38. I love the English. My God, they brought us 'Benny Hill,' 'Monty Python,' 'The Office,' Neville Chamberlain. #Quote by Seth MacFarlane

#39. The Romans gave Venus, their goddess of love, many of the attributes of Bastet, and often depicted her with a cat. Some historians believe importing cats to England was the Romans' greatest contribution toward civilizing the British. #Quote by Globe Digests

#40. I was excellent at English and Drama. Maths and Science I was terrible at. I didn't have any interest in them. I was happiest at lunchtime, playing with my friends. But I love science now, that's the funny thing. And I'd be so good at geography, as I've been fortunate enough to travel the world. #Quote by Peter Andre

#41. She looked up at him with those eyes, and Dougan experienced a pang of love so intense and ferocious it felt as though it didn't belong in this holy room.
He began the incantation he remembered from watching once from behind his mother's skirts when he was young.

'Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.
I give ye my body, that we two might be one.
I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.'

Farah needed a bit of prompting to remember all the words, but she said them with such fervency that Dougan was touched.
Slipping a ring of a willow herb vine onto her finger, he recited the sacred olde vows with perfect clarity, but translated them into English for her sake.

'I made ye my heart
At the rising of the moon.
To love and honor,
Through all our lives.
May we be reborn,
May our souls meet and know.
And love again.
And remember.'

She looked lost and mystified for a moment, then announced, "Me, too. #Quote by Kerrigan Byrne

#42. Mother I had a beautiful house in Shingdi a vegetable garden Vines of bitter gourd lettuce English spinach and tousled coconut trees Coconuts fell on my darling husbands head One day we made love under the tree Now I was pregnant just like my orchard full of fruits with the love child Oh I ran as hard as I could from the shadow These were shadows of time shadows of the past ... #Quote by Mehreen Ahmed

#43. And I think because of the passion of every English player and every English supporter, and every English journalist for the game, most of the game is played with passion, love for football and instinct, but in football you also have to think. #Quote by Jose Mourinho

#44. English, which can express the thoughts of Hamlet and the tragedy of Lear, has no words for the shiver and the headache... The merest schoolgirl, when she falls in love, has Shakespeare or Keats to speak her mind for her, but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry. #Quote by John Green

#45. Why do we love nonsense? Why do we love Lewis Carroll with his "'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe, all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe…"? Why is it that all those old English songs are full of "Fal-de-riddle-eye-do" and "Hey-nonny-nonny" and all those babbling choruses? Why is it that when we get "hep" with jazz we just go "Boody-boody-boop-de-boo" and so on, and enjoy ourselves swinging with it? It is this participation in the essential glorious nonsense that is at the heart of the world, not necessarily going anywhere. It seems that only in moments of unusual insight and illumination that we get the point of this, and find that the true meaning of life is no meaning, that its purpose is no purpose, and that its sense is non-sense. Still, we want to use the word "significant." Is this significant nonsense? Is this a kind of nonsense that is not just chaos, that is not just blathering balderdash, but rather has in it rhythm, fascinating complexity, and a kind of artistry? It is in this kind of meaninglessness that we come to the profoundest meaning. #Quote by Alan W. Watts