Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.
Interpretation
Romantic love often turns out to be an illusion that fades over time, revealing a more complex reality.
In this quote, Thomas Moore suggests that romantic love is often perceived as an idyllic and passionate experience, but this initial enchantment can diminish as relationships progress. He notes that people frequently realize this truth at the conclusion of romantic relationships or when the fervent feelings of love transition into the more subdued reality of marriage, highlighting the complexities and challenges inherent in long-term relationships.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about the nature of love during a marriage counseling session.
When we relate to our bodies as having soul, we attend to their beauty, their poetry and their expressiveness. Our very habit of treating the body as a machine, whose muscles are like pulleys and its organs engines, forces its poetry underground, so that we experience the body as an instrument and see its poetics only in illness.
Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.
How many times do we lose an occasion for soul work by leaping ahead to final solutions without pausing to savor the undertones? We are a radically bottom-line society, eager to act and to end tension, and thus we lose opportunities to know ourselves for our motives and our secrets.
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.
Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
Wilbur didn't want food, he wanted love.
By my soul, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep; nor, what's still worse, love any woman in the world but her.
I don’t understand the hatred and fear of gays and bisexuals and lesbians… it’s a concept I honestly cannot grasp. To me, it’s not who you love… a man, a woman, what have you… it’s the fact that you love. That is all that truly matters.
From suffering I have learned this: that whoever is sore wounded by love will never be made whole unless she embraces the very same love which wounded her.
It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love.
So my last image was as the first. A sleeping youth cloaked in light, who opened his eyes with a smile of recognition for someone who had never been a stranger.
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