“Amorem conatum esse amicitiae faciendae
               ex pulchritudinis specie.”

["Love is a desire of contracting friendship arising from the beauty
of the object.”—­Cicero, Tusc.  Quaes., vi. 34.]

I return to my own more just and true description: 

“Omnino amicitiae, corroboratis jam confirmatisque,
et ingeniis, et aetatibus, judicandae sunt.”

     ["Those are only to be reputed friendships that are fortified and
     confirmed by judgement and the length of time.” 
     —­Cicero, De Amicit., c. 20.]

For the rest, what we commonly call friends and friendships, are nothing but acquaintance and familiarities, either occasionally contracted, or upon some design, by means of which there happens some little intercourse betwixt our souls.  But in the friendship I speak of, they mix and work themselves into one piece, with so universal a mixture, that there is no more sign of the seam by which they were first conjoined.  If a man should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could no otherwise be expressed, than by making answer:  because it was he, because it was I. There is, beyond all that I am able to say, I know not what inexplicable and fated power that brought on this union.  We sought one another long before we met, and by the characters we heard of one another, which wrought upon our affections more than, in reason, mere reports should do; I think ’twas by some secret appointment of heaven.  We embraced in our names; and at our first meeting, which was accidentally at a great city entertainment, we found ourselves so mutually taken with one another, so acquainted, and so endeared betwixt ourselves, that from thenceforward nothing was so near to us as one another.  He wrote an excellent Latin satire, since printed, wherein he excuses the precipitation of our intelligence, so suddenly come to perfection, saying, that destined to have so short a continuance, as begun so late (for we were both full-grown men, and he some years the older), there was no time to lose, nor were we tied to conform to the example of those slow and regular friendships, that require so many precautions of long preliminary conversation:  This has no other idea than that of itself, and can only refer to itself:  this is no one special consideration, nor two, nor three, nor four, nor a thousand; ’tis I know not what quintessence of all this mixture, which, seizing my whole will, carried it to plunge and lose itself in his, and that having seized his whole will, brought it back with equal concurrence and appetite to plunge and lose itself in mine.  I may truly say lose, reserving nothing to ourselves that was either his or mine.—­[All this relates to Estienne de la Boetie.]