Love is indeed, an enthusiasm, and also an immortality. Such a treatise has, no doubt, been kept back by reluctance upon the part of profound thinkers to treat with dignity and soberness a sentiment so married, as they imagine, by association with guitars and perfumed envelopes and bouquets, and with adjectives and adverbs, but it is probable that our profound thinkers are as much over-dressed in their robes of dignity as our lovers are over-bedecked by their clothing and adjectives.
The career of this disturbance, which is both a convalescence and a decline, a blush of health and pallor, a giant and an invalid, repeats the general theory of the new philosophy of development, for, in the barbaric races, love is as narrow and as humble as are the languages and the arts.
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