"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like
an earthquake and then subsides. And
when it subsides you have to make a
decision. You have to work out whether
your roots have become 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 of us can
convince ourselves we are. Love itself is
what is left over when being in love has
burned away, and this is both an art and a
fortunate accident. Your mother and I had
it, we had roots that grew towards each
other underground,
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