Never mind love. What is it? The dream of a few weeks. That is all its joy. The disappointment of life is its Nemesis. Who was ever successful in true love? Maybe I am just wrong for feeling the way I do, thoughts indecent, want to put those down to you. I know you have a love, I do not want to tie, when you are free at night just make those hours mine.

I can be another lover in your life. I can be the reason you are out at night. I can be all the things you thought one might. I can be on the side and that would be alright, alright. Love just is not my thing, but half of you might be enough for two or more, you do not have to believe in me.

Fine like expensive wine, drunk off a glass of you, I think all might be too much, so weekends for me are cool. I can be another lover in your life. I can be the other reason you are out at night. Success in love argues that love is false. True love is always despondent or tragical.

For real true love we believe the best age is from forty five to seventy; up to that, men are generally given to mere flirting. It is as easy to love a girl, who has somethings, as one who has nothing. No, it is not; because the girls with money are scarce, and those without are plentiful.

For love, I could give up everything, but nothing from fear. The person whom you cannot care for in a novel, because they are so bad, are the very same that you so dearly love in your life, because they are so good. A man cannot understand that love which induces a woman to sacrifice her pride simply for his advantage.

I do not mind spending some time just hanging here with you because I do not find too many people who treat me like you do. Those others all want to take me for a ride, but when I walk they talk of suicide. Some people never get beyond their stupid pride, but you can see the real me inside and I am satisfied, oh no, ohh.

Even though the gods are crazy, even though the stars are blind, if you show me real love, baby, I will show you mine. I can make it nice and naughty, be the devil and an angel, too. Got a heart and soul and body, let us see what this love can do. Maybe I am perfect for you.

I could be your confidant, just one of you fun friends, but I know I am not what you want if tomorrow the World ends. Why should we not be with the one we really love? Now tell me who have you been dreaming of? I and I alone, oh, no. A man cannot understand that love which induces a person to sacrifice one’s pride for his advantage.

What does the only woman who my heart has stooped to love. What does love signify? How much real love do we ever see among married people? So you think I am bad, babe. And you keep acting like you want me. I do not need a little toy, you better turn it up just a little more. Get my attention, I am ready to go my, only intention is to give you a show.

Light it up, I know you want it. Take a bow. Let us get high off our love. High off our love. Do you want to get high off my love? Can you hear me? I am on an Xtina trip. You from Mars, baby? The night is young, it is time to kill it. Let us turn it up, I know you really want it.

I want to see you (oooh). Go hard as you can and let it show, you are making me dance. Tender love should show itself by tender conduct. How grand a thing it is to be equal with those whom you love! Jove smiles at lovers’ perjuries. Love and friendship know nothing of justice. The value of love is that it overlooks faults and forgives even crimes.

Love is involuntary. It does not often run in a yoke with prudence. Is there any inconstancy in ceasing to love when one is not loved? Is there inconstancy in changing one’s love, and in loving again? It has been difficult with me to love. The difficulty with most is not to love. In matters of love, men do not see clearly in their own affairs. He was a man who might be loved; but he was hardly a man for love.

Love is a passion which kindles honor into noble acts. The safest lover ever best succeeds. Love laughs at parsons. Love’s sweet violence, my only wickedness is that I love you; my only goodness, the same. Cupid is a knavish god; he can pierce the hearts of others, and hold a shield before his own.

We love with our ears, just as some love with their eyes, if you ever love at all. It seems to me that we never do anything else. Then you never really love. When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the World calls romance.

The World is created anew for every person who is in love. There is therefore this constant miracle of a new Heaven and a new Earth. Was there every any love worth the name that could be controlled by calculations of expediency? Was there ever a young man who could see any reasons against the possession of the woman he loved?

If love levels ranks, it raises them too. In love, or unhappy, it is the same thing. Is anybody unhappy about another unless they are in love with them? Romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art. Each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved. Difference of object does not alter singleness. All right, then, I will go to hell [ rather than betray a loved one].

Where a woman loves, she seldom doubts enough for her own safety. This love is d     ! In how many shapes does it make people shew themselves. I should be ungrateful not to love them for their love. None but the giddy love at first sight love everybody; but not their faults. Love will creep, where it cannot go. Love is a selfish deity. Of what absurd things does love make its votaries guilty!

Love is very subtle thing, and, like water, will work its way into the banks that are set up to confine it, if it be not watched, and dammed out in time. Platonic love is, in general, a dangerous allowance. Is love such a stayed, deliberate passion, as to allow a young creature to take time to ponder and weigh all the merits of its cause?

Love at first sight must indicate a mind prepared for impression, and a sudden gust of passion, and that of the least noble kind; since there could be no opportunity of knowing the merit of the object. Love on one side and discretion on the other is enough in conscience; and, in short, much better than love on both sides: for what room can there be for discretion, in the latter case?

I have found that truly to accept another person and his or her feelings is by no means an easy thing, any more than is understanding. Can I really permit another person to feel hostile toward me? Can I accept his anger as a real and legitimate part of himself? Can I accept him when he views life and its problems in a way quite different from mine?

Can I accept him when he feels very positively toward me, admiring me and wanting to model himself after me? All this is involved in acceptance and it does not come easy. I believe that it is an increasingly common pattern in our culture for each one person must feel and think and believe the same as I do.

We find it very hard to permit our children or our parents or our spouses to feel differently than we do about particular issues or problems. We cannot permit our clients or our students to differ from us or to utilize their experience I their own individual ways. On a national scale, we cannot permit another nation to think or feel differently than we do.

Yet it has come to seem to me that this separateness of individuals, the right of each individual to utilize his experience in his own way and to discover his own meanings in it—this is one of the most priceless potentialities of life. Each person is an island unto himself, in a very real sense; and he can only build bridges to  other islands if he is first of all willing to be himself and permitted to be himself.

Two paramount ingredients of love and affection are knowledge and acceptance—saying to the loved one, “I know you. I know you very well, and you are OK with me.” One or the other of these ingredients is very often missing in relationships that are called friendship or love. Perhaps I seem to accept you, but I do not know you very intimately—and therefore you might be afraid that when I do know you, I will not like or love you. Or perhaps, I do know you well, but always seem to be critical of your faults. In other words, I do not accept you.

These two elements are probably the most important ingredients in any love relationship—and in any therapy relationship, regardless of whether it is a traditional psychoanalysis or a modern group therapy situation. The patient comes to feel deeply understood and deeply accepted by the therapist. This is of paramount importance, because generally the patient does not feel much love or acceptance for himself. That is one of the major problems.

At this point, you might ask, “If those are the most central ingredients in therapy, why cannot a good friend, lover, or mate do just as good a job at helping someone in trouble?” That is a good question. Part is the answer is that such people can do a great deal to help. Is not real and unaffected tenderness for the infirmities of another, the very essence of love?

She argued poor love out of doors. She did not seem to allow the possibility of any persons being in love at all. A man’s lover is a fire of olive-wood. It leaps higher every moment. There are different species of love that go under the same name. There is a love that begins in the head, and goes down to the heart, and grows slowly; but it last till death, and asks less than  it gives. There is another love, that blots out wisdom, that is sweet with the sweetness of life and bitter with the bitterness of death, lasting for an hour; but it is worth having lived a whole life for that hour.

There be loves many and gods many; and happy the man whose god and lover are one—happy for the time being; most miserable of mortals when the time of revelation comes and at one stoke both god and lover crumble into dust.

Life is too wonderful to hate in. We are all too nearly bound for hating. The party that loves most is always most willing to acknowledge the greater fault. Love, like despair, catches at straws. Everyone can tell a love letter that has ever received one. One knows them without opening—they are always folded hurriedly and sealed carefully, and the direction manifests a kind of tremulous agitation, that makes the state of the writer’s nerves. Love exists not without hope.

The bravest things a human being can do is to really love another human being. For it opens you wide to disappointment, to hurt, to failure, to tragedy. It is very hard to run such a risk. Most men and women are not brave enough to run it. Most of us insist on defending ourselves.

And we do not take the risk of loving because we know the odds are not fair. To make a thing of shared joy takes two people, both of whom are willing to give themselves to that common construction or creation. Each knows that at any moment either one of them can ruin it. Each knows that neither one of them can make it beautiful, or good, or joyous alone, but alone either can make it bad, destructive, unhappy.

Practice–your new friendships, hobbies, learning, and other pursuits will not become fun activities unless and until your practice them. Many people miss out on a great deal of enjoyment simply because they never get good enough at anything to relax and appreciate their own efforts.

This is not that same as saying “anything worthwhile is work!” Again, your leisure is to be used for things of your own choosing and things that give you pleasure. However, sometimes initial hurdles must be got over before you get to the pleasurable part. Do not give up too soon!

No Chapter on enjoyment of life can really call itself complete without some mention of love. Love is an instrument like any other thing, and we must play on it with considerate gentleness. Where love exists there is goodness. Does not love shun the World? Two that love must have their substance in isolation. The love of a young girl, with the morning’s mystery about her, there is no pure love, but strong love. Love, however, is a dangerous malady for the middle age.

The love that survives has strangled craving, it lives to nourish and succor like the Heavens. The love that survives has strangled craving; it lives because it lives to nourish and succor like the Heavens. Nature and love are busy in conjunction. Loved played on love in the woman’s breast.

Deep true love, proved by years, is the advocate. Thou that thinkest thyself adored: O Fool! It is not Thou she loveth, but the Difficulty. If immeasurable love were perfect wisdom, one human being might almost impersonate providence to another.

Love is that blessed wand which wins the waters from the hardness of the hearts. The Magnetic Age: the age of violent attractions: when to hear mention of love is dangerous, and to see it, a commination of the malady.

When Nature has made us ripe for love it seldom occurs that the Fates are behindhand in furnishing a temple for the flames. So many admire you, what makes me special, why should I obey and wait for your love when young love has a thousand eyes?

Love is still the cunning musician. Every love tale is an epic war of the upper and lower powers. Love of any human object is the soul’s ordeal. Love the charioteer is easily tripped, while honest jog-trot Love keeps his legs to the end.

Love is love, and every will be, in spite of fathers and mothers. Love, with his accustomed cunning. Love is the death of self. A case of a man who had two loves—a woman and his country; and both true to him. Whoever loved that loved not as first sight?

The wishes of two lovers make a will. Strength in love is the sole sincerity. At the age of forty, men that love love rootedly. If the love is plucked from them, the life goes with it. The Earth has grown weary of the Sun, and turns herself into the shadow, eager for the rest.

The Sun has been too ardent a lover. However, the gazes of the Sun upon the receding Earth are fonder than his look when she raised herself to his bright face. Illusions are the mirror of love.

There is a little god called Love, that will not be worshiped of any leaden brains; on that proclaims himself sole king and emperor of piercing eyes, and chief sovereign of soft hearts.

Many become passionate lovers only to win praise to their wits. Will you cast out the devil whose name is Legion, when you cannot cast out the imp whose name is love? Love cannot exist in a heart that has lost the meek dignity of innocence. You know how foolish those are that love; they are greater fools that do not.

Where pity and admiration meet, love is not far behind. Love is not reason; love is not common sense. ‘Tis a passion. Love takes the deepest root in the steadiest minds. People take high delight in finding out folks in love. Who knows what opportunities a man in love may give against himself?

If I am guilty of a fault in my Universal adorations of the sex, the women in general out to love me the better for it. Love was ever a traitor to its harborer. Love within, and I without, she will be more than woman or I less than man if I succeed not.

Love is ingenious. Love is not naturally a doubter; fear is. An acknowledged love sanctifies every freedom; and one freedom begets another. Smooth love—that is to say, a passion without rubs, a passion without passion—is like a sleepy stream that is hardly seen to give motion to a straw.

True love only wishes; nor has it any active will but that of adorable object. Love is but second to revenge. He can hardly bear your name; yet can think of nobody else. Love never goes backward.

Nothing but the highest act of love can satisfy an indulged love. Those who most love are least set by. Are not lovers’ oaths a jest of hundreds of years’ standing? Love hides a multitude of faults, and diminishes those it cannot hide. Love is allowed to be an excuse for our most unreasonable follies.

Love is always aspiring, always must aspire. Nothing but the highest act of love can satisfy an indulged love. Love satisfied is indifference begun.

Love and compassion are hard to be separated: while anger converts what would be pity, without it, into resentment. How does this damned love unman me! Love is gentler than conscience. Many people have found useful the simply device of intentionally, definitely giving themselves permission to enjoy whatever they are doing.

They may talk to themselves, write a message and stick it up on the bathroom mirror, or ask a friend to reinforce the idea. The method does not matter. What is important is to realize that you may feel unable to enjoy your activities, for any number of reasons, and to get across to yourself the message, “It is OK to relax!” Whatever device you use, it should be something that communicates directly to you—means something in your own head.

The last few years have seen a tremendous response to the motto, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” Perhaps the unspoken second half is, “And tomorrow might be the last!” This is not to advocate a gloomy feeling that we might die at any moment. It is to proclaim that since every life ends sometimes, it is finite, precious, not to be wasted.

Remembering that simple fact can be the best of all possible helps in learning to pick free-time activities that give you pleasure and to enjoy them to the fullest.

I have put up three signs: DO NOT THINK, BE UN-REASON-ABLE, LET MISTAKES GO; THEY WERE NOT WORTH ANYTHING IN THE FIRST PLACE. Maiden, I am no monster, nor a sea animal, but a god; and neither Paris Hilton nor Ryan Phillippe ranks higher than I.

Once I was a mortal, and followed the sea (society) for a living; but now I belong to wholly to it. I plunged for life or death. To interknit one’s sense with so dense a breathing stuff might seem a work of pain, so not enough can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, and buoyant round my limbs.

At first I dwelt whole days and days in sheer astonishment; forgetful utterly or self-intent, moving but with the might ebb and flow. Then like a new-fledged bird that first doth show his spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, I tried in fear the pinions of my will. “Taw freedom! And at once I visited the ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.

As once with prayers in passion flowing, I embraced the stone, till from the frozen marble glowing, the light of feeling over me shone, so did I clasp with young devotion bright nature to a poet’s heart; till breath and warmth and vital motion seemed through the statue from to dart.

And then, in all my ardor sharing, the silent from expression found; returned my kiss of youthful daring, and understoond my heart’s quick sound. Then lived for me the bright creation, the silver rill with song was rife; the trees, the roses shared sensation, an echo of my boundless life.

Love unmans and softens. Love will draw an elephant through a keyhole. I should be ungrateful not to love them for their love. None but the giddy love at first sight.

One of the best ways to turn on to living is to develop meaningful friendships. Friendships are sought by each of us because we are gregarious, or social, beings. We have the need to be accepted by, to associate with, and to pursue life with other people. We have a need to share our identities and humanness with others in the human population.

Any man can make a women of feeling love him if he loves her enough and she has to antipathy to him. When a man loves, he has no past. There are no experiences alive in his memory to help to philosophy. One cannot love hopelessly and look one’s best. Nature demands some tribute in spite of the strongest will.

Love unblended with any kind of ambition is unnatural, and the latter is frequently the father of the former. Chance is as unpropitious as favorable to lovers. The enthusiasm of a woman’s love is even beyond the biographer’s.

If it be true that no young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman’s love is declared, it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her.

Where the heart is really attached, one can be little pleases with the attention of anybody else. Everything is insipid, uninteresting, that does not relate to the beloved object. To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love.

There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better shew more affection then she feels. Next to being married, a girl like to be crossed in love a little now and then. It is something to think of, and it gives her a sort of distinction among her companions.

That expression of “violently in love” is as often applied to feelings which arise from an half-hour’s acquaintance, as to real, strong attachment. Is not general incivility the very essence of love? You are too sensible to fall in love merely because you are warned against it.

A knight may never be of prowess but if he be a lover. There was never worshipful man or worshipful woman, but they loved one better than another. Boldness is ever a friend to love. Cupid sometimes blinds some people for their good.

It is a hard thing to have loved; it is a hard thing to have not loved. However, harder than all else is to lose (or fail to gain) one’s lover. I have loved ships, as I have loved men. Love, in the eyes of its objects, ever seeks to invest itself with some rare superiority.

Love is a fervent fire. Love has more to do with posterities than with the past. Moan or woman who has never loved, nor once looked deep down into their own lover’s eyes, they know not the sweetest and loftiest religion of this Earth. Love is both Creator’s sand and Saviour’s gospel to mankind.

The extremist top of love is Fear and Wonder. The audacious immortalities of divinest love. A glorious, softly glorious, and most gracious evening, which seemed plainly a tongue to all humanity, saying: I got down in beauty to rise in joy; Love reigns throughout all Worlds that sunsets visits; it is a foolish ghost-story; there is no such thing as misery. Would the god of Sunlight decree gloom? It is a flawless, speckles, fleckless, beautiful World throughout; joy now, and joy forever!

Whatever some lovers many sometime say, love does not always abhor a secret, as nature is said to abhor a vacuum. Love is built upon secrets, as lovely Venice upon invisible and incorruptible piles in the sea. Love’s secrets, being mysteries, ever pertain to the transcendent and the infinite; and so they are as airy bridges, by which our further shadows pass over into the regions of the golden mists and exhalations; whence all poetical, lovely thoughts are engendered, and drop into us, as though pearls should drop from rainbows.

Letters of a lover in an extremity of love, crying for help, are as curious to cool strong men as the contortions of the proved heterodox tied to a stake must have been to their chastening clerical judges. Old love reviving may be love of a phantom after all. We can, if we must revive, to keep it to the limits of a ghostly love.

Many not one love, craving to be beloved? Such a love does not sap our pride, but supports it; increases rather than diminishes our noble self-esteem. To attain such a love the martyrs writhed up to the crown of saints. The people verily thirst to love and reverence. Their love is the only love worth having, because it is disinterested love, and endures, and takes heart in adversity. So with a Church. It lives if it is at home with the poor.

To love is to be on the sea, out of sight of land. Her instinct of love sounded her lover through, and felt the deficiency or the contrariety in hi, as surely as musical ears are pained by a discord that they require no touchstone to detect.

When we are alone, or selfish, we cannot afford to fail, there is no one to pick us up. However, when we are  loved, we can afford to fail. Someone loves us, puts us back together again, and we are on our feet again because we love in return.

Even in the most civilized and technicized societies, play remains essential for the acquisition of knowledge, especially for self-discover by the child and the adolescent. The drive to explore and to play probably contributes also to the continued growth of the adult.

Dare, when you are in doubt about whether to try something that looks enjoyable, take a calculated risk, we advocate no blind leap into drugs, promiscuity, or sky-diving, but do not let simple risks hold you back. To enjoy living means to take chances, that are rewarding. For some of us timid souls, enjoyment can take a lot of determination and energy. It may seem easier and safer to simply stay home, but the potential rewards are certainly not as great!

Love frequently dies of time alone-much more frequently of displacement. Mindfulness: Waking up to your life moment to moment and paying attention, on purpose, non-judgmentally. You are surrounded by sights, sounds, fragrances, tastes, and touch sensations. Which are you aware of first? The first stage of perception is attention, the selection of incoming messages. There is little doubt about the importance of attention. Real love is blind devotion, unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission, trust, and belief against yourself and against the whole World, giving up your heart and soul to the smiter. Love must suffer in the stern World. My love was founded on a rock, and it endures. Shrewdness in love usually goes with meanness in general. There are three states of mind: Emotional mind, wise mind, and reasonable mind. Love in all things a most wonderful teacher. The recollection of what I had been to her awakened feelings of forbearance and meekness under suffering in her bosom, to which all God’s creatures, but women, are strangers. The most interesting and pardonable of human weakness—love. If selfishness a necessary ingredient in the composition of that passion called love, or does it deserve all the fine things which poets, in the exercise of their undoubted vocation, have said of it? Love is a stronger passion than vanity. A lover without indiscretion is no lover at all. What can you do with your mind that is mindful? For one, you can choose to look and look with an open mind. Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to the growth of love, but they are, very often, its powerful auxiliaries. Baby is much tighter than a century safe. I always loved that boy as if he had been my-my-my own grandfather. I was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had occurred to me, so I signed the letter, “You love-sick Pickwick.” We are all born for love. It is the principle of existence, and its only end. New love is the brightest, and long love is the greatest  but revived love is the tenderest thing known on Earth. Describe—putting our experience into words; label a thought a thought and a feeling a feeling. Perfect love has a breath of poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human population. Men are often blind to the passions of women but every woman is as quick-sighted as a hawk on these occasions, nor is there one article in the whole science of love which is not understood by all women; she might have said to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Women frequently do this. It flows from the fact that in each exists a bias toward affection, a craving for the pleasure of being loved. The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathized with, is one of the attributes of the sex. This, coupled with sentiment and a natural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. It persuades them that they are in love. A man does not always love most what he admires. Love, an extremely exacting usurer, we do not need to know a man well in order to love him. That is only necessary when we want to leave off. Participate—quieting the mind enough to be open to the now and be totally present to what is from moment to moment. Let go of the past. God created love, and just like the United States is the most powerful nation in the World because we have the most weapons, we are less likely to be attacked for this reason. The CIA has weapons that you would not believe. The reason I bring this up is if love is made by God, and you focus on what you love, and who you love, that means your war chest is full of God (love), so you are less likely to be attacked by your enemies. If you are full of love, it is contagious and they do not want to catch it. Your enemy gains power from hate and anger, which is also contagious. Love is not a passion that degrades, but exalts our nature. It is a deep mystery—the way the heart of man turns to one woman out of all the rest he is seen in the World, and makes it easier for him to work seven year for her, like Jacob did for Rachel, sooner than have any other women for the asking. We cannot love just where other folks would have us. There is nobody, but God can control the heart of man. Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurance that it all the whole disbelieves. However, the vainest woman is never thoroughly conscious of her own beauty till she is loved by the man who sets her own passion vibrating in return. You once told me I would not know it enough. Well, let me tell you something, yeah, I do. You once told me, I would not feel it enough. Well, let me tell you that, baby, I do. Sometimes I find myself in a sea in a dream that is so far away. Sometimes tell me what has happened to me. Sometimes I see myself falling, although I do not show it much. Sometimes I am crazy for you. Well maybe I am fine and tell me you are mine. Offenses are easily pardoned where there is love at the bottom. How can you be mindful? It is no secret, Bristlecone pines, Mount Washington, in Great Basin, Nevada are the longest-living trees on Earth—some survive as long as 5,000 years. However, the trees are hard to find because of the lack of developed trails, which makes them difficult to access. Therefore, if I loved, I should love at once and without change, so I can find the trails to your heart and our love will last more than 5,000 years, and others will not be able to access or take those feelings away from us. The simple, primitive love which knits us to the beings who have been nearest to us, in their times of helplessness or of anguish aims at its own completeness because perfect love is every virtue considered as a well-fleshed indifference to sorrow outside it, young lovemaking—that gossamer web!

Tell me, baby, can you hold me now? You do not have to say it, I feel it, too. And maybe I am falling or maybe, but I do not show it much. Tell me baby, can you see me now? Show me baby that I do not know how. There is no greater vulgar error than that it is impossible for a man who loves one woman to ever lover another. On the contrary, it is certain that a man who can love one woman so well, at a distance will love another better that is nearer to him. Pain is going to happen in any relationship, but we have to accept what is good and difficult. Make up your mind that I am the one you want and make it known you are not going to let this love go. Suffering, things have happened in the past. You have been cheated on a bunch of times, and even have presents from God you did not expect. You are a different person now and you nor I can focus on what we should have done. We cannot grasp the past, it is gone. We cannot avert the future, it is here, as every moment passes. I can be in denial about loving you and you can push me away, but the need of being loved will always subdue us. Pain is inevitable in life, but suffering is optional! But sometimes I find myself in a sea, in a dream that is so far away. Sometimes, tell me what has happened to me. Love often entails imbecility on the noblest of mankind. One mindfully—is doing one thing at a time. Slow your life down. In all ages it hath been a favorite text that a potent love hath the nature of an isolated fatality, whereto the mind’s opinions and wonted resolves are altogether alien. Yet all love is not such, even though potent; nay, this passion hath as large scope as any for allying itself with every operation of the soul: so that it shall acknowledge an effect from the imagines light of unproven firmaments, and have its scale set to the grander orbits of what hath been and shall be. Even a man who has practiced in lovemaking till his own glibness has rendered him skeptical, may at last be overtaken by the lower’s owe. Please forgive me if I repeat myself—love has no wings. All persons are doomed to be in love once in their life. What silly nonsense love is! What do not people write about the really important things of life? Effectively—focusing on what works: Asking yourself, “What is going to work best in the situation?” This is the only century in which love has obtained even a partial divorce from Worldly and parental influences. The profession of love must be highly esteemed where fallacious coin can pass for sterling worth. Make a commitment to play by the rules and get away from fairness and unfairness, right and wrong, vengeance and anger. I have seen a woman wash her love from her remembrance in less times than she could get a spot of ink out of her ruffle. Do you erase me from your memory, did you every really love me at all? Love may be likened to a disease in this, that when it is denied a vent in one part, it will certainly break out in another. Certain philosophers, among many other wonderful discoveries, pretend to have found out that there is so such passion as love in the human heart. Esteem and gratitude are the proper motives to love, as youth and beauty are to desire. Living well is the best revenge. I do not want to live with hate and anger. Love of the spirit and knows not death. Look beyond your World, try to find a place for me. If you ever feel the need to wonder why, let me know.