No Man Is A Man Until He

[she] Knew That It Was Not Precisely A Body That One Loved. One Loved The Man Who Shone Out Through The Eyes And Used Its Mouth To Smile And Speak.

We Have Roots That Grow Towards Each Other Underground. And When All The Pretty Blossom Has Fallen From Our Branches We Find That We Are One Tree And Not Two.

When You Fall In Love, It Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake, And Then It Subsides. And When It Subsides, You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Are Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part.

He Gets Into The Habit Of Thinking So Passionately At Night That He Begins To Be Persecuted By Insomnia.

Love Is Not Breathlessness; It Is Not Excitement; It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being “in Love”, Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.