The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the

“The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.” — Mother Teresa

In these sacred words, Mother Teresa spoke not merely of need, but of the two hungers that dwell within every human being. The first is of the flesh, the hunger for bread — that simple longing to survive, to fill the emptiness of the body. But deeper still lies the second hunger, far more silent, yet infinitely more powerful — the hunger for love, the yearning of the soul to be seen, to be known, and to be cherished. The body may endure a day without food, but the heart cannot bear a day without affection. For the heart, once starved, grows hollow, echoing through the chambers of the human spirit like a temple abandoned by its gods.

From the time of the ancients, sages have spoken of this truth. Even the mighty emperors of Rome, who sat upon thrones of gold and were served feasts beyond imagination, often confessed their loneliness. Marcus Aurelius, philosopher and emperor, wrote in his meditations that a man may rule the world and yet feel empty if he finds not warmth in another’s soul. So it has always been — that wealth may feed the body, but only love can nourish the heart.

In the slums of Calcutta, where Mother Teresa walked among the poorest of the poor, she beheld a suffering far greater than hunger of the stomach. She saw eyes dim not from lack of food, but from lack of care — men and women who had been forgotten by the world, starved of human touch and compassion. One day, she found an old man lying alone in the dust, dying not of disease, but of despair. She took him into her arms, fed him, washed his wounds, and whispered words of kindness. The man’s last breath was a smile. He said, “All my life I lived like an animal in the streets, but today, I die like an angel — loved and cared for.” This was the proof of her words: bread can fill the belly, but only love can resurrect the soul.

Consider also the story of Victor Hugo’s Jean Valjean, who after years of hunger and imprisonment, was saved not by food, but by forgiveness. A priest, giving him a single act of mercy, rekindled his humanity. That act of love broke the chains that bread never could. For love does not merely sustain — it transforms. It calls forth the divine within each of us, reminding us that we are more than creatures of appetite; we are beings fashioned for connection, compassion, and grace.

The hunger for bread belongs to the body, and it ends when the stomach is filled. But the hunger for love belongs to the soul, and it returns again and again, for the soul was made to give and to receive love without measure. This hunger cannot be silenced by riches, nor soothed by power. It demands the warmth of a hand, the gentleness of a word, the presence of one who listens. When that is denied, even the strongest heart begins to wither.

Therefore, O seeker of wisdom, let this be your teaching: if you would heal the world, do not stop at feeding the hungry — feed the lonely, comfort the forgotten, love the unloved. In every city and every home, there are souls starving in silence. A smile, a kind word, a patient ear — these are as precious as loaves of bread. The smallest act of compassion may fill a greater emptiness than all the banquets of kings.

And so, live in such a way that no one in your presence feels invisible. Let your heart become the bread that nourishes others. Share warmth as though it were fire in winter. For when you give love freely, you feed not only others, but also yourself. Then the hunger for love, which is more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread, will become instead a feast of giving, where the soul finds its peace, and the world, its healing.