If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.

—William Congreve

About William Congreve

Portrait of William Congreve

William Congreve (24 January 1670 – 19 January 1729) was an English playwright, satirist and poet. He played a major role in shaping English comedy, and is often regarded by literary critics as one of the greatest playwrights of the Restoration period. The popularity of his plays in the late...

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Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have 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 eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.

—Louis de Bernières in Captain Corelli's Mandolin

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