The Christmas Season Reminds Us That A

How Many Young Men, In All Previous Times Of Unprecedented Steadiness, Had Turned Suddenly Wild And Wicked For The Same Reason, And, In An Ecstasy Of Unrequited Love, Taken To Wrench Off Door-knockers, And Invert The Boxes Of Rheumatic Watchmen!

Good Never Come Of Such Evil, A Happier End Was Not In Nature To So Unhappy A Beginning.

[i]t Seemed As If The Streets Were Absorbed By The Sky, And The Night Were All In The Air.

You Know What I Am Going To Say. I Love You. What Other Men May Mean When They Use That Expression, I Cannot Tell. What I Mean Is That I Am Under The Influence Of Some Tremendous Attraction Which I Have Resisted In Vain, And Which Overmasters Me. You Could Draw Me To Fire, You Could Draw Me To Water, You Could Draw Me To The Gallows, You Could Draw Me To Any Death, You Could Draw Me To Anything I Have Most Avoided, You Could Draw Me To Any Exposure And Disgrace. This And The Confusion Of My Thoughts, So That I Am Fit For Nothing, Is What I Mean By Your Being The Ruin Of Me.

Mystery And Disappointment Are Not Absolutely Indispensable To The Growth Of Love, But They Are, Very Often, Its Powerful Auxiliaries.