I have heard of reasons manifold why love must be blind. The white moth to the closing vine, the bee to the open clover. I cannot say, but I feel it is so and I am tormented accordingly. And swearing till my very roof was dry of all compassion.
No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread. Love is the emblem of eternity: it confounds all notion of time: effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end. Love in your hearts as idly burns as fire in antique Roman urns. Tis what I love that determines how I love.
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