Love is the blackest of all plagues, and if one could die of it, there would be some pleasure in love.
But you almost always get over it.
There are only a couple of poor wretches who die of love once in a while.
Love is as contagious as a cold in the nose.
It eats away at your strength, your independence, your morale, if you have any.
If everything is imperfect in this imperfect world, love is most perfect in its perfect imperfection.
About Me
- Highlander
- Rivals Hamlet in his indecision. Friends consider him naive. Suffers from Peter Pan syndrome. A little confused in life but never lets go of his idiotic optimism. The quintessential Sagittarian philosopher. Ego next to zero. But a proud Mallu who can laugh at himself. Tries to keep a pure heart. He calls himself the Lone Wolf at times- no idea why. Finds joy in simple things-like splashing water in a puddle...or watching a spider spin a web... Or watching a mother teach her baby to walk... Has the habit of seeking the common thread in all opposites.. Strongly believes he's gonna be the Last Man Standing in some kind of survival game we all call Life. May the force be with him.
3 comments:
its all in d brain...love will destroy a weak mind, and uplift d stronger one!
we alrdy have had too many discussions abt this...
Love is perfect wen seen thrgh d eyes filled wth love for life & reality.......
Love is imperfect wen seen thrgh d eyes filled wth hatred for life & reality.......
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