I have too much respect for people to try to control them. But

“I have too much respect for people to try to control them. But they are estranged from love, afraid to reach out and touch one another. We're afraid to appear sentimental or speak in platitudes because people will say, ‘What a jerk!’ It takes courage in our culture to be a lover.” Thus spoke Leo Buscaglia, the great teacher of the heart, whose words flowed not from books alone but from the living pulse of human connection. In these lines, he unveils a truth as ancient as the soul — that love is the most natural impulse of humanity, and yet, in our pride and fear, we have become strangers to it. He warns that the modern world, armored in cynicism and pride, has forgotten the simple bravery of tenderness. To love openly, sincerely, and without shame, he says, is an act of courage greater than any conquest.

The meaning of this saying lies in the recognition that control and love cannot coexist. Respect is born of freedom — to love another is not to possess, but to honor their will and spirit. Yet, though Buscaglia refuses to control others, he laments that most people have withdrawn from love entirely. They hide behind sarcasm, intellect, and detachment, fearing to appear foolish or weak. In their hearts, they hunger for connection, yet their fear of rejection binds them in solitude. True love, he reminds us, is not safe, nor is it dignified by the world’s standards. It is vulnerable, childlike, and exposed — and that is precisely where its power lies.

The origin of these words is found in Buscaglia’s life itself — a life devoted to awakening others to the miracle of human affection. Known to his students as “Dr. Love,” he was a professor at the University of Southern California who turned from academic formalities to speak about the heart — about compassion, kindness, and touch in a world grown cold. He saw his students, brilliant and ambitious, yet aching with loneliness, ashamed to show care or tenderness. In his lectures, he would often embrace them, reminding them that to reach out, to risk connection, was the truest act of learning. Thus, his message was born not of theory, but of living practice: that love is not a sentiment, but a discipline of the brave.

History, too, offers luminous mirrors of his wisdom. Consider St. Francis of Assisi, who walked among the poor, embracing lepers when others recoiled. To the eyes of the world, he was a fool — naïve, sentimental, extravagant in his love. Yet through his unguarded affection, he touched thousands of hearts, proving that courage and compassion are one and the same. Or think of Mahatma Gandhi, who faced empires not with swords, but with the fierce gentleness of love. He refused hatred, even toward those who oppressed him. Such men embody what Buscaglia teaches: that to love boldly is not weakness, but the highest form of strength.

In our modern age, Buscaglia’s warning feels even more urgent. We live surrounded by connection, yet starved for touch. We scroll, we post, we speak in fragments — but the heart, which longs to give and receive, is hidden behind the mask of irony. We mock sentimentality because it exposes our need, and we equate tenderness with fragility. Yet in doing so, we deny our humanity. For as Buscaglia teaches, love is not an ornament to life — it is its very foundation. To live without it is to live half-awake, armored but hollow.

To follow his teaching, one must first reclaim vulnerability. Begin by small acts — speak kindness where silence would be safer, offer touch when distance feels easier. Let sincerity be your rebellion in a world that prizes cynicism. When others scoff, smile. When they withdraw, approach. To love is to risk pain, but also to awaken joy. It is to cast aside the armor of irony and step into the sacred risk of connection. For Buscaglia reminds us: every act of love — every gesture of warmth or forgiveness — is a defiance of fear and a victory of the soul.

The lesson, then, is eternal: do not be afraid to love, and do not be ashamed to show it. Love does not weaken; it fortifies. It does not enslave; it liberates. To love in a loveless age is the highest courage, for it demands that we reveal our truest selves to a world that has forgotten its heart. So, my child, let your life be rich in affection. Speak warmth without fear of mockery. Reach out your hand to the lonely. For though the world may call you foolish, heaven will call you wise — and in that wisdom, you will discover what Leo Buscaglia knew so deeply: that to love bravely is to live fully, and that all other victories pale before the triumph of an open heart.