Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together. That it is inconceivable 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 who truly love have roots that 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.
You were born together, and together you shall be forever more.
You shall be together when the wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness.
And let the winds of heaven dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your soul.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.
You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones.
Calvin: What’s it like to fall in love?
Hobbes: Well… say the object of your affection walks by…
Hobbes: First, your heart falls into your stomach and splashes your innards. All the moisture makes you sweat profusely. This condensation shorts the circuits to your brain and you get all woozy. When your brain burns out altogether, your mouth disengages and you babble like a cretin until she leaves.
Calvin: THAT’S LOVE?!?
Hobbes: Medically speaking.
Calvin: Heck, that happened to me once, but I figured it was cooties!
Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a person. Having neither to weigh thoughts, nor measure words; But to pour them all out just as it is, chaff and grain together; Knowing that a faithful friend will take and sift them, Keeping what is worth keeping and then, with the breath of kindness, blowing the rest away.
Not until I felt your sunshine,
Did I realize that I had been in the shade. Not until I saw all your colours,
Did I realize that mine had faded.
Not until I heard your dreams,
Did I realize that I was still sleeping.
And not until I experienced my life with you, Did I realize that I was barely breathing.
I can’t remember when I didn’t like you It must have been lonesome then
Even if it was the 9th of July
Even if it was August
Even if it was way down at the bottom of November I would go on choosing you
And you would go on choosing me
Over and over again
And that’s how it would happen every time.
It has made me better loving you… it has made me wiser, and easier, and – I won’t pretend to deny – brighter and nicer and even stronger. I used to want a great many things before, and to be angry that I didn’t have them. Theoretically I was satisfied, as I once told you. I flattered myself I had limited my wants. But I was subject to irritation; I used to have morbid, sterile, hateful fits of hunger, of desire. Now I really am satisfied, because I can’t think of anything better.
What I’m feeling, I think, is joy. And it’s been some time since I’ve felt that blinkered rush of happiness. This might be one of those rare events that lasts, one that’ll be remembered and recalled as months and years wind and ravel. One of those sweet, significant moments that leaves a footprint in your mind. A photograph couldn’t ever tell its story. It’s like something you have to live to understand. One of those freak collisions of fizzing meteors and looming celestial bodies and floating debris and one single beautiful red ball that bursts into your life and through your body like an enormous firework. Where things shift into focus for a moment, and everything makes sense. And it becomes one of those things inside you, a pearl among sludge, one of those big exaggerated memories you can invoke at any moment to peel away a little layer of how you felt, like a lick of ice cream. The flavour of grace.
Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.
For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.
The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies
were made in the interiors of collapsing stars.
We are made of starstuff.
The beauty of a living thing is not in the atoms that go into it,
but the way those atoms are put together.
Every one of us is, in the cosmic perspective, precious.
In a hundred billion galaxies, you will not find another.
We get old and get used to each other. We think alike. We read each other’s minds. We know what the other wants without asking. Sometimes we irritate each other a little bit. Maybe sometimes take each other for granted. But once in a while, like today, I meditate on it and realise how lucky I am to share my life with the greatest woman I ever met.
I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.