Love

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.

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