My mother's mild-eyed sadness looks at me from the eyes of those I love.

Position yourself well enough, and circumstances will do the rest.

An illicit love affair seems sweetly old-fashioned in the age of one night stands and orgies.

With every physical pain, my moral fibre unravels a little.

Sometimes the given seems like something taken away.

Narcissus weeps to find that his Image does not return his love.

Passion impels our deeds; ideology supplies the explanations.