Love
is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and
then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a
decision. You have to work out whether your roots have
become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that
you should ever part. Because this is what love is. 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.
Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards
each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom
had fallen from our branches we found that we were one
tree and not two.
- Captain Corelli's Mandolin






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