"To be in love is merely to be In a state of perpetual anesthesia: To mistake an ordinary young man for a Greek god Or an ordinary young woman for a goddess."
All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until ‘tis fine;
But when ‘tis settled on the lee,
And from th’ impurer matter free,
Become the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasanter the colder.
