Love is a temporary madness. It erupts likean earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make adecision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwinedtogether that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this iswhat love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not thepromulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” whichany of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over whenbeing in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunateaccident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each otherunderground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches wefound that we were one tree and not two. — Louis de Bernieres