What we love about love is the fever, which marriage puts to bed and cures.
We choose those we like; with those we love, we have no say in the matter.
We have to call it "freedom": who'd want to die for "a lesser tyranny"
In life, as in restaurants, we swallow a lot of indigestible stuff just because it comes with the dinner.
At the beginning of a love affair, not even the neurotic is neurotic.
With each passing year, one has less to say, and knows better how to say it.