““People who love as you do, with that plentitude and fire, always forget what others experience. The lover is not the one to be pitied: he quenches his thirst with his own pain, his own fire feeds him; but the loved one is like dry cracked ground that we ask to produce fountains and lakes; he receives all the offerings and homage of a lover and says nothing; he is a man with no answers and no voice because he is worn out. The gifts of youth dazzle and astonish him but he, the dying man who is not yet quite dead, who still loves life, who thinks first of all of protecting his peace, his interior fortress, really he finds nothing to say. The other’s love is transformed into a reproach because he does not know how to answer it.””
