Love i
s a temporary madne
ss.
It erupt
s like an earthquake and then
sub
side
s.
And when it
sub
side
s you have to make a deci
sion.
You have to work out whether your root
s have become
so entwined together
that it i
s inconceivable that you
should ever part.
Becau
se thi
s i
s what love i
s.
Love i
s not breathle
ssne
ss, it i
s not excitement,
it i
s not the promulgation of promi
se
s of eternal pa
ssion.
That i
s ju
st being in love which any of u
s can convince our
selve
s we are.
Love it
self i
s what i
s left over when being in love ha
s burned away,
and thi
s i
s both an art and a fortunate accident.
Your mother and I had it,
we had root
s that grew toward
s each other underground,
and when all the pretty blo
ssom had fallen from our branche
swe found that we were one tree and not two.
~ Captian Corelli'
s Mandolin.
