Hearts will never be practical until they are made unbreakable. There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course.
Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation. Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source.
It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been!"
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