Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.
Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope
Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined. Lawless, winged, and unconfined, and breaks all chains from every mind.
I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.