Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides.
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.
Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being "in Love" Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.
Nothing Hurts More Than Realizing They Meant Everything To You, But You Meant Nothing To Them.
