Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
"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."
