Unconditional love is a lofty ideal, but unconditional hate is a fact well documented by history.
As a child I was middle-aged and cautious compared to my impulsive father.
When love ends, the beloved is no longer standing on a pedestal, but in a hole.
The soul is no longer honored as it once was, but it still keeps appetite from being the measure of all things.
Few friendships could survive the moodiness of love affairs.
Too timid to talk back, I shot my adversary.