love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is we
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
1 corinthians 13:4-8
love is patient, love is kind
it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
it is not rude, it is not self seeking.
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
it always protects, always trusts, always, hopes, always perseveres.
love never fails.
first epistle of paul to the corinthians, chapter 13:4-8
love is great hearted, love is kind.
love is not envious,
love is not boastful, is not proud,
does not wound the dignity of others,
does not seek only it’s own,
does not allow itself to grow bitter, does not impute evil to others,
does not rejoice in injustice,
but rejoices only in truth.
love bears all things, is all trusting, all hoping all enduring.
love never fails.
what is love?
louis de bernieres’s captain corelli’s mandolin
love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. and when it subsides you have to make a decision. you have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. because this is what love is. love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. that is just being in love which any of us can convince ourselves we are. love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.
by robert louis stevenson
lord, behold our family here assembled.
we thank you for this place in which we dwell,
for the love that unites us,
for the peace accorded us this day,
for the hope with which we expect the morrow,
for the health, the work, the food,
and the bright skies that make our lives delightful;
for our friends in all parts of the earth.
a history of love
by diane ackerman
love. what a small word we use for an idea so immense and powerful. it has altered the flow of history, calmed monsters, kindled works of art, cheered the forlorn, turned tough guys to mush, consoled the enslaved, driven strong women mad, glorified the humble, fueled national scandals, bankrupted robber barons, and made mincemeat of kings. how can love’s spaciousness be conveyed in the narrow confines of one syllable? love is an ancient delirium, a desire older than civilization, with taproots spreading into deep and mysterious days. the heart is a living museum. in each of its galleries, no matter how narrow or dimly lit, preserved forever like wondrous diatoms, are our moments of loving, and being loved.
the minute i heard my first love story i started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.