It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
Maybe the poets are right. Maybe love is the only answer.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again.
What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?
Who so would be a man must be a nonconformist, He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind
For the great Gaels of Ireland Are the men that God made mad, For all their wars are merry, And all their songs are sad.