Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.

Go where we may, rest where we will, Eternal London haunts us still.

Love doesn't demand perfection, but it does ask you to give yourself with less reserve than you'd prefer.

Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.

Come o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through the sunshine, storms and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

A genuine odyssey is not about piling up experiences. It is a deeply felt, risky, unpredictable tour of the soul.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.