t, and nothing
in the heavens above or in the earth beneath or in the waters under the
earth will resuscitate it.

How many a forlorn human wight has tried to resuscitate love!

* * *

To such heights does love exalt the lover that he or she will live for
days in the remembered delights of a look, a word, a gesture. But

One thing is impossible to love: love cannot create love; the intensest
and most fervent love is powerless to evoke a scintillation of love.

Love may worship, it may adore, it may transfigure, it may exalt the
object of its devotion to the skies; but it cannot cause that object to
emit one ray of love in return.

* * *

Hate may be concealed; love never.

* * *

The greater the imaginative altitude of love, the lower the boiling
point. But

Love cannot always be kept at high pressure.

* * *

The young think love is the winning-post of life, the old know it is a
turn in the course. Nevertheless, it is a fateful turn.

* * *

In love, the imagination plays a very large part. And this may be
variously interpreted. Thus,

By man, love is regarded as a sort of sacred religion; by woman, as her
every-day morality. The former is the more exhilarating; but the latter
is more serviceable. Indeed,

Love and religion are very near akin: both inspire, and both elevate.
And

If faith, hope, and charity are the basis of religion, there never was
such as religion as love. And

Love is the only religion in which there have been no heretics. Why?
Because woman are at once its object and its priesthood.

Love, art, and religion are but different phases of the same emotion:
awe, reverence, worship, and sacrifice in the presence of the supreme
ideal.

Love knows no creed. Nay more,

Love acknowledges no deity but itself and accepts no sanctions but its
own: it is autonomous. And yet--

And yet, love sometimes feels constrained to offer a liturgical
acquiescence to the rubric of Reason. In short,

Between the prelatical domination of Reason and the recusant
Protestantism of Love there has ever been strife. Or, in plain language,
There are two codes of ethics: one that of the romantic heart; the other
that of the practical head. Who shall assimilate them?

The heart, in its profoundest depths, feels that something is due to
Reason; and Reason, in its highest flights, feels that something is due
to the heart.

Is there a divine duplicity in the human soul? And yet, after all