For love is like a journey in mountainous country, up through the clouds, and down into the shadows to an unknown destination. - Ford Madox Ford

But the real fierceness of desire, the real heat of a passion long continued and withering up the soul of a man, is the craving for identity with the woman that he loves. He desires to see with the same eyes, to touch with the same sense of touch, to hear with the same ears, to lose his identity, to be enveloped, to be supported. For, whatever may be said of the relation of the sexes, there is no man who loves a woman that does not desire to come to her for the renewal of his courage, for the cutting asunder of his difficulties. And that will be the mainspring of his desire for her. We are all so afraid, we are all so alone, we all so need from the outside the assurance of our own worthiness to exist.

Why can't people have what they want? The things were all there to content everybody; yet everybody has the wrong thing.

"هؤلاء نساء فلاندرز
ينتظرن الضّائعين،
ينتظرنَ الضّائعين الذين أبداً لنْ يُغادروا الميناء،
ينتظرن الضّائعين الّذين أبداً لن يجيء بهم القطار
إلى أحضان هؤلاء النّسوة، ذوات الوجوه الميتة،
ينتظرن الضّائعين الّذين يرقدون موتى في الخندق والحاجز والطّين في ظلام الليل.
هذه محطّة تشارنغ كروس. السّاعة جاوزت الواحدة.
ثمّة ضوء ضئيل
ثمّة ألم عظيم".