Love is a temporary madness.
It erupts li
ke an earthqua
ke and then subsides.
And when it subsides you have to ma
ke a decision.
You have to wor
k 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.
~ Captian Corelli's Mandolin.
