"And what is love?" I asked him once. "What is love, and what is romantic love?"

He smiled.

"Let me give you an image," he said. "Imagine a heap—a mountain of wood and paper soaked in petrol. If you were to throw a spark into this whole mess, it would explode, igniting a huge fire, powerful and alive, capable of burning everything around it.

This fire is a source of pleasure, yes, but not of warmth.

If you get too close, you risk being burned. This fire dazzles with its extraordinary light. But if you try to cook on it, you'll probably burn the food in the intense heat.

And this fire doesn't last long. Soon enough, it dies down.

That's romantic love.

Romantic love is impressive, alluring, beautiful. But it doesn't last. It blinds you at times. It doesn’t easily sustain you. And if you're not careful, it can burn you.

The charcoal left behind—that's what keeps you warm. You can stir it, cook over it, sit near it.

The charcoal that remains, yes, that's love...