any fool can be happy. It takes a man with real heart to make beauty out of the stuff that makes us weep.
Nothing else wounds so deeply and irreparably. Nothing else robs us of hope so much as being unloved by one we love
One part of love is innocence One part of love is guilt One part the milk that in a sense Is soured as soon as spilt One part of love is sentiment One part of love is lust One part is the presentiment Of our return to dust
