Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Too much and not enough.

It's too much because it's not enough.
pain and anger
disappointment
sadness
too much effort to pretend it doesn't matter.
much too much.

Because it's not enough
care or concern
compassion
friendship
love
not enough of even giving a damn.
not nearly enough.

When you fall in love, it is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become 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. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.- Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

"Love is the beauty of the soul."--St. Augustine

My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them. They tell me those who were poor early have different views of gold. I don't know how that is. God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him. - Emily Dickinson

How many people can you claim truly care about you? I mean, not just the people in your life who are fun to hang out with, not just the people who you love and trust. But people who feel good when you are happy and successful, feel bad when you are hurt or going through a hard time, people who would walk away from their lives for a little while to help with yours. Not many. Because there's another side to it, you know. When someone is invested in your well-being, you become responsible for them in a way. Anything you do to hurt yourself hurts them. You're not really free when people care about you; not if you care about them.

- Lisa Unger, Beautiful Lies

Hope

Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

- Emily Dickinson

When you start to really know someone, all his physical characteristics start to disappear. You begin to dwell on his energy, recognize the scent of his skin. You see only the essence of the person, not the shell. That's why you can't fall in love with beauty. You can lust after it, be infatuated by it, want to own it. You can love it with your eyes and your body but not your heart. And that's why, when you really connect with a person's inner self, any physical imperfections disappear, become irrelevant.

- Lisa Unger, Beautiful Lies

Riding

Subway cars in New York come in three versions: new, "green," and fabulous; sort-of old with the unfortunate interior colour scheme of yellow, orange and beige; and ancient, sketchy, take-your-life-in-your-hands-when-you-get-on-them cars.

For some reason, the cars on the R and V lines - the lines I ride on every day - have gone from the sort-of old version to the ancient and sketchy. So every morning and evening for the past couple of weeks, the ribbed stainless steel tube (circa 1970 or worse) pulls in to my stop with the ear-splitting squeal of metal-on-metal brakes (think of someone raking their fingernails down a chalkboard, only worse) with air conditioning that only works when it doesn't really need to.

Sometimes, I wait on the platform, hoping the next train will be the familiar ugly yellow and orange, but so far, no luck - just another ancient, rusty-roofed train each looking worse than the one before - if that's possible.

It's funny how our perspective changes in these circumstances. I used to lust after the new and fabulous trains, thinking I was relegated to second-class citizenry by having to ride on the ugly, semi-old cars. But now, oh how I have repented. I pray daily and hope fervently for the quick return of those beautiful yellow and orange trains.

More Quotes I Like - from Lisa Unger

Once we’ve started on the road to truth, there’s no turning back; the Universe doesn’t like secrets.

Auntie Denial. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered comforting sentiments. As fragile as she is, she’s powerful when you cooperate with her, when you let her spin her web around you. As long as you don’t look her in the face, she’ll wrap you in a cocoon. It’s safe and warm in there. So much nicer than the alternative.

Real friends, friends of my heart.

We make our choices. We forge ahead. Or we curl up and wallow in regret. Both alternatives have their appeal.

Depression is not dramatic, but it is total. It’s sneaky – you almost don’t notice it at first. Like a cat burglar, it comes in through an open window while you’re sleeping. It takes little things first: your appetite, your desire to return phone calls. Then it comes back for the big stuff, like your will to live. The next thing you know, your legs are filled with sand. The thought of brushing your teeth fills you with dread, it seems like such an impossible task. Suddenly you’re living in black and white – nothing is bright, nothing is pretty anymore. Music sounds tinny and distant. Things you found funny seem dull and off-key.

I was just so sad and angry. I felt as if all this pain was living in my chest with no way of being released.

There are all kinds of death in this world. The death of the body is the least of them. The death of self, the death of hope – now, that’s the hard stuff.

I think that most people are just trying to be happy, and that most of their actions, however misguided, are in line with that goal. Most people just want to feel they belong somewhere, want to be loved, and want to feel they’re important to someone.

I distrust people who pierce themselves in tender places. Isn’t life painful enough? Doesn’t it leave enough scars?

Friendship

" A friend is one to whom one may pour out all the contents of one's heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away." - Arabian Proverb