Love is the tyrant of the heart; it darkens. Love is always bestowed as a gift - freely, willingly and without expectation. Avarice in the vaults of Hell. With life all other passions fly.
For love reflects the thing beloved. Love is the history of a woman's life; it is an episode in man's. I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. I hate and I love. Why do I do so you perhaps ask.
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