Love (n.) is a well from which we can drink only as much as we have put in, and the stars that shine from it are only our eyes looking in.
Love (n.) is able to be born in even a very small degree of hope.
Love (n.) is like the Milky Way in that it is a brilliant mass formed by thousands of little stars of which each perhaps is nebulous.
Love (n.) makes death a thought made frequent, easy, without terrors... it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things.
Love's (n.) pleasures are always in proportion to our fears.
Love (n.) is sufficient to cause the birth of love.
Love's (n.) birth can be brought about by even a very small degree of hope.
Love (n.) is the only passion which rewards itself in a coin of its own manufacture.