A friend in power is a friend lost.
Friends are born, not made.
You say that love is nonsense. I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain, an ache about the heart, never leaving one, by night or by day; a long strain on one's nerves like toothache or rheumatism, not intolerable at any one instant, but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength.
It [love] is a disease to be born with patience, like any nervous complaint, and to be treated with counter-irritants.
Man loves most that which is his own.
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