To be in love is merely to be in a state of perceptual anesthesia – to mistake an ordinary young woman for a goddess. – H. L. Mencken

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[A] morning-land full of immeasurable hopes encircled him; he stripped his breast, threw himself all aglow into the dripping grass, washed (but not with any higher purpose than girls have) his firm face with liquid June-snow… – Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, Hesperus, or Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography,
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