Love is like the measles. The older you get it, the worse the attack. No one has ever loved anyone the way everyone wants to be loved. Love never dies quite suddenly. He complains a great deal before expiring.
Love is a fruit in season at all times.
The sin of love does not exist. It requires infinitely a greater genius to make love, than to make war. Perhaps that is what love is - the momentary or prolonged refusal to think of another person in terms of power. Love is the wild card of existence. Being always overavid, I demand from those I love a love equal to mine, which, being balanced people, they cannot supply.