A mother who doesn't part with a daughter every season has no real affection.
Send
A mother who doesn't part with a daughter every season has no real affection.
Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
With love you can't go to market. It's its joy, like the joy of intellect, is feeling alive. The reason for love is loving: no more, no less.
I always quiver for the fear to touch your hand, and I don't know how, always happens that I touch it. As soon as it lies on mine I take a jump; the game rather gives me fever or better a delirium: I don't see, I don't feel nothing anymore; and, in this moment of alienation, what can I say, what can I do?
Where con I hide, how do I answer to myself?
All self-love in man and in any other loving being shall not be so if not to flatter other's self-love.
I think you are capable of great nobility and kindness towards a wife, I believe you capable of every sacrifice and of great tollerance in conjugal life, until, you have an end, I mean to say that the woman you love lives and lives for you. I only lay claim to one priviledge of my sex (and it is not an enviable priviledge, it is not the case for you to have it for yourselves) and it is that of longer than when life and hope have gone.
Nothing else counts if not the quality of the affection.
No one is happy, like who knows to be loved.
After life has slapped you profusely you must get used again to a more delicate touch.
I am an island and the stars have surrounded me and if I walk in silence I will find the path to get back to my road where I left you every decisive moment in a story.