My love is like a stone tied round my neck; it's dragging me down to the bottom; but I love my stone. I can't live without it.
Anton ChekhovHe always seemed to women different from what he was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the same.
Anton Chekhov