Why one man rather than another? It was odd. You find yourself involved with a fellow for life just because he was the one that you met when you were nineteen.
The essence of romantic love is that wonderful beginning, after which sadness and impossibility may become the rule.
And what's romance? Usually, a nice little tale where you have everything As You Like It, where rain never wets your jacket and gnats never bite your nose and it's always daisy-time.
He must have a truly romantic nature, for he weeps when there is nothing at all to weep about.
Is not this the true romantic feeling - not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you?
