“Amore che muove il sole e l’altre stelle.”  —­Dante

The beginning, middle, and end of love—­is a sigh.

* * *

All things point to the infinite; and love more than all things else.

* * *

Complex as is the character of love, here are two things which love always does:  always it

“Refines the thoughts
 And heart enlarges;”
           —­Milton

and,

Love dyes all things a cerulean hue. (What a pity it is not a fast color!)

* * *

Love is the most antimonial of emotions:  it worships, yet it will not stop at sacrilege; it will build about its object a temple of adoration, then desecrate the fane; it will give all, yet ruthlessly seize everything; it delights in pleasing, yet it sometimes wittingly wounds; its ineffable tenderness often merges into an inclemency extraordinary; —­symbol of universal duality, it is at once demonical and angelic.

* * *

Nothing stands still in this world, not even love:  it must grow or it withers.  And, perhaps,

That is the strongest love which surmounts the greatest number of obstacles.

* * *

Love to some is an intoxicant; to others an ailment.  To all it is a necessity.

* * *

As is one’s character, so is one’s love.  And

Perhaps the deepest love is the quietest.

* * *

Love is as implacable as it is un-appeasable.  Nay more,

Love is merciless:  as merciless to its votary as to its victim:  For

Love would slay rather than surrender; would for-swear rather than forgo.

* * *

Some loves, like some fevers, render the patient immune—­at all events to that particular kind of contagion.

Many lovers are vaccinated in early youth.

* * *

Only love can comprehend and reciprocate love.  This is why,

If, of two sensitive human souls, the one loves passionately and the other not at all, the other is unwittingly blind and deaf to love’s clamors and claims:  the one may ardently urge; the other but passively yields:—­

Only the famished understand the pangs of the hungered.

Of a great and reciprocated love there is one and only one sign:  the expression of the eyes.  Who that has seen it was ever deceived by its counterfeit?

Did ever the same love-light shine in the same eyes twice?

The light of love in the eyes may take on a thousand forms:  exultant jubilation, a trustful happiness; infinite appeasement, or promises untold; an adoration supreme, or a complex oblation; tenderness ineffable, or heroic resolves; implicit faith; unquestioning confidence; abounding pity; unabashed desire. . .

He who shall count the stars of heaven, shall enumerate the radiances of love.

* * *

There is no Art of Loving (1); though, as Ovid says, love must be guided by art (2).  Yet,