Captain Corelli's Mandolin
Love is a temporary madness.
It erupts like a volcano and then subsides.
And when it decides you make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have 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 eternal passion.
That is just being in love,
Which any fool can do.
Love itself is what is left over
when being in love has burned away
and this is both an art
and a fortunate accident.
Those that truly love,
have roots grow towards each other underground,
and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches,
they find that they are one tree
and not two.
It erupts like a volcano and then subsides.
And when it decides you make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have 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 eternal passion.
That is just being in love,
Which any fool can do.
Love itself is what is left over
when being in love has burned away
and this is both an art
and a fortunate accident.
Those that truly love,
have roots grow towards each other underground,
and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches,
they find that they are one tree
and not two.
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