Real love is the love that sometimes arises after sensual pleasure: if it does, it is immortal; the other kind inevitably goes stale, for it lies in mere fantasy.
Giacomo CasanovaAbout author
- Author's profession: Celebrity, Writer
- Nationality: italian
- Born: April 2, 1725
- Died: June 4, 1798
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What though the radiance which was once so bright. Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour. Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find. Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy. Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring. Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.
William Wordsworth
On the beach, at dawn:
Four small stones clearly
Hugging each other.
How many kinds of love
Might there be in the world,
And how many formations might they make
And who am I ever
To imagine I could know
Such a marvelous business?
When the sun broke
It poured willingly its light
Over the stones
That did not move, not at all,
Just as, to its always generous term,
It shed its light on me,
My own body that loves,
Equally, to hug another body.
Mary Oliver