I have too much respect for people to try to control them. But they are estranged from love, afraid to reach out and touch one another. We're afraid to appear sentimental or speak in platitudes because people will say, 'What a jerk!' It takes courage in our culture to be a lover.

I thought I would love you forever—and, a little, I may, in the way I still move toward a crate, knees bent, or reach for a man: as one might stretch for the three or four fruit that lie in the sun at the top of the tree; too ripe for any moment but this, they open their skin at first touch, yielding sweetness, sweetness and heat, and in me, each time since, the answering yes.

Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!

But love is really more of an interactive process. It's about what we do not just what we feel. It's a verb, not a noun.

She turned to face him. She reached over and touched his hand, hesitantly, gently, amazed that after all these years had somehow known exactly what she'd needed to hear. When their eyes locked, she once again realized how special he was. And just for a fleeting moment, a tiny wisp of time that hung in the air like fireflies in summer skies, she wondered if she was in love with him again.

And you will remember that love is not getting, but giving; not a wild dream of pleasure, and a madness of desire — oh no, love is not that — it is goodness, and honour, and peace, and pure living — yes, love is that; and it is the best thing in the world, and the thing that lives longest.