Blessed are those who are not afraid to admit that they don't know something.
We'll make love often in the first year, less in the second, and after the third year, people perhaps think about sex only once every two weeks and transform that thought into action only once a month. Even worse, we'll barely talk.
Those wounded in love, unlike those wounded in armed conflicts, are neither victims nor torturers. They chose something that is part of life, and so they must accept both the agony and the ecstasy of that choice. And those who have never been wounded by love will never be able to say: ‘I have lived.' Because they haven't.