A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will–o'–the–wisp, dancing onward to fairylands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jea… - Theodore Dreiser

What thought engendered the spirit of Circe, or gave to a Helen the lust of tragedy? What lit the walls of Troy? Or prepared the woes of an Andromache? By what demon counsel was the fate of Hamlet prepared? And why did the weird sisters plan ruin to the murderous Scot?

Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

In a mulch of darkness are bedded the roots of endless sorrows - and of endless joys. Canst thou fix thine eye on the morning? Be glad. And if in the ultimate it blind thee, be glad also! Thou hast lived.

How could they judge him, these people, all or any one of them, even his own mother, when they did not know what his own mental, physical and spiritual suffering had been? And

I believe in the compelling power of love. I do not understand it. I believe it to be the most fragrant blossom of all this thorny existence.