Definitions HQ

Love (n.) comes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠from outside — not from the other person but from the otherness of the other — and it cannot be owned: it comes and goes, a trembling on the edge of being.

Love (n.) does ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not complete community — that would make it community’s work — but lays bare its unworking and endless incompletion: lovers are community’s extreme limit, not its outside.

Love (n.) comes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠back as a question to be thought just when it stops being the theme of poetry and is relegated to dime-store novels.

Love (n.) grasped ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠absolutely may be nothing but the boundless abundance of all possible loves — charity and pleasure, emotion and pornography, the neighbor and the infant, the kiss, friendship — and an abandonment to their scattering.

Love (n.) as ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠philosophy has always thought it is the extreme movement beyond itself of a being reaching completion — so that in arriving, love abolishes itself.

Love (n.) in ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the Western tradition is always double — necessary and impossible, sweet and bitter, free and chained, lucid and blind — and also the resolution of all its oppositions.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠missing from philosophy exactly where philosophy prescribes it: the heart of being, run by the dialectic, turns out to be not a heart but a subject.

Love (n.) declared ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠runs a risk no dialectic can absorb: that the other does not love me, or that I do not keep the promise of my love.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a series of scars.

Love (n.) in ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the absolute is a Western claim: only the West names, in one word, a principle that orders or disorders the whole of being — nature, the city, knowledge and God.

Love (n.) keeps ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its rendezvous an indefinite number of times, and it is never ‘love’ that turns up — someone else is at the meeting, and love is revealed and betrayed by it: Così fan tutte.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠its own promised eternity: that one day I may no longer love you cannot be taken away from love — it belongs to it, and the promise is made against it and with it.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠faithful only to itself: a broken promise does not prove there was no love.

Love (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠no parts, kinds or stages, only an infinity of shatters: it is complete in a single embrace or in a life’s history, in jealous passion or in tireless devotion.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the limit of a thinking that pushes to the limit of philosophy: we never reach love, though love is always happening to us — we are always exposed to it.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠joy accompanied by the idea of an exterior cause.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠addressed each time to one alone, singularly and infinitely — even if you switched every day, even if you love several at once.