A lover exists only in fragments, a dozen or so if the romance is new, a thousand if we're married to him, and out of those fragments our heart constructs an entire person. What we each create, since whatever is missing is filled by our imagination, is the person we wish him to be. The less we know him, of course, the more we love him. And that's why we always remember that first rapturous night when he was a stranger, and why this rapture returns only when he's dead.
Interpretation
This quote reflects how love constructs an image of a person from incomplete knowledge, filled in by our imagination.
Andrew Sean Greer's quote delves into the nature of love and how it is often built on fragmented understandings of a partner. The idea that we fill in the gaps of our loved one's personality with our imagination suggests that our perception is heavily influenced by our desires and emotions. This phenomenon is especially strong in the early stages of a relationship, where mystery and unknown aspects heighten romantic feelings. As we get to know someone more deeply, the illusion can fade, but the intense desire often resurfaces in memories or loss, showcasing the complexity of love and attachment.
In practice
This quote could be used in a wedding speech to highlight the magic of new love.
Perhaps love is a minor madness. And as with madness, it's unendurable alone. The one person who can relieve us is of course the sole person we cannot go to: the one we love. So instead we seek out allies, even among strangers and wives, fellow patients who, if they can't touch the edge of our particular sorrow, have felt something that cuts nearly as deep.
No one would have known, from how he held my hand, [that] over the years of heartache he had hatched a plot to change my life forever. He held his grip and would not let me go. I do not know what joins the parts of an atom, but it seems what binds one human to another is pain.
Some things are so impossible, so fantastic, that when they happen, you are not at all surprised. Their sheer impossibility has made you imagine them too many times in your head, and when you find yourself on that longed-for moonlit path, it seems unreal but still, somehow, familiar. You dreamed of it, of course; you know it like a memory.
We are each the love of someone's life.
Am I in love? --yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.
I don't want learning, or dignity, or respectability. I want this music, and this dawn, and the warmth of your cheek against mine.
You're able to love others, to give to others, and do for others by giving and doing for yourself first.
Oh, thou did'st then ne'er love so heartily. If thou rememb'rest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run inot, Thou has not loved. Of if thou has't not sat as I do now, Wearying they hearer in thy mistress's praise, Thou has not loved. Of if thou hast not broke from company Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou has not loved. (Silvius)
Everything terrible is something that needs our love.
Love, not anger, brought Jesus to the cross. Golgotha came as a result of God's great desire to forgive, not his reluctance. Jesus knew that by his vicarious suffering he could actually absorb all the evil of humanity and so heal it, forgive it, redeem it.
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