"[...] for love sometimes flies, sometimes walks, runs with one, creeps with another, warms a third, burns a fourth, wounding some and slaying others. In one moment, it begins, performs, and concludes its career; lays siege in the morning to a fortress, which is surrendered before night, there being no force that can withstand its power."
If my children ever ask me what love is, I only have to refer them to Don Quixote, Chapter 34 and these few lines. Despite all the madness and folly that seem to encompass this book, there are some passages that make up for the trying nature of others.
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