Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Gustave FlaubertHe loved the extensive vaults where you could hear the night birds and the sea breeze; he loved the craggy ruins bound together by ivy, those dark halls, and any appearance of death and destruction. Having fallen so far from so high a position, he loved anything that had also fallen from a great height
Gustave Flaubert