To love is good, too: love being difficult. For one human being
to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our
tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which
all other work is but preparation. For this reason young people,
who are beginners in everything, cannot yet know love: they have
to learn it. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered
close about their lonely, timid, upward-beating heart, they must
learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time,
and so loving, for a long while ahead and far on into life, is--solitude,
intensified and deepened loneness for him who loves. Love is at
first not anything that means merging, giving over, and uniting
with another (for what would a union be of something unclarified
and unfinished, still subordinate--?), it is a high inducement
to the individual to ripen, to become something in himself for
another's sake, it is a great exacting claim upon him, something
that chooses him out and calls him to vast things.
by
Robert Burns
[1790s]
Dear Madam,
The passion of love has need to be productive of much delight;
as where it takes thorough possession of the man, it almost unfits
him for anything else. The lover who is certain of an equal return
of affection, is surely the happiest of men; but he who is a prey
to the horrors of anxiety and dreaded disappointment, is a being
whose situation is by no means enviable. Of this, my present experience
gives me much proof. To me, amusement seems impertinent, and business
intrusion, while you alone engross every faculty of my mind. My
I request you to drop me a line, to inform me when I may wait
upon you? For pity's sake, do; and let me have it soon. In the
meantime allow me, in all the artless sincerity of truth, to assure
you that I truly am,