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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 by Louis de Bernières
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