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 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 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 that 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.
Louis de Bernieres
Captain Correlli's Mandolin