Because love is the meeting point of truth and magic. Truth, as in photography; magic, as in ballooning.

People in love, it is well known, suffer extreme conceptual delusions, the most common of these being that other people find your condition as thrilling and eye-watering as you do yourselves.

There is accumulation. There is responsibility. And beyond this there is great unrest.

What happiness is there in just the memory of happiness?

Early in life, the world divides crudely into those who have had sex and those who haven't. Later, into those who have known love, and those who haven't. Later still - at least, if we are lucky (or, on the other hand, unlucky) - it divides into those who have endured grief, and those who haven't. These divisions are absolute; they are tropics we cross.

This was long before the term 'single-parent family' came into use; back then it was a 'broken home'.

The more you learn, the less you fear.