If You Understood Him, It Would Not

We Should Never Use The Truth To Wound.

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides. And When It Subsides You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Have Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part. Because This Is What Love Is. Love Is Not Breathlessness, It Is Not Excitement, It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being In Love Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.

The Mind Commands The Body, And It Obeys Forthwith; The Mind Commands Itself, And Is Resisted. The Mind Commands The Hand To Be Moved, And Such Readiness Is There That The Command Is Scarce To Be Distinguished From The Obedience. Yet The Mind Is Mind, And The Hand Is Body. The Mind Commands The Mind To Will, And Yet, Though It Be Itself, It Obeyeth Not. Whence This Monstrous Thing? And Why Is It?

There Is Another Form Of Temptation, Even More Fraught With Danger. This Is The Disease Of Curiosity. It Is This Which Drives Us To Try And Discover The Secrets Of Nature, Those Secrets Which Are Beyond Our Understanding, Which Can Avail Us Nothing And Which Man Should Not Wish To Learn.

Alternate Translation: Come Brethren, If You Have A Mind To Be Ingrafted In The Vine, It Is A Pity To See You Lopped Off In This Manner From The Stock. Reckon Up The Prelates In The Very See Of Peter; And In That Order Of Fathers See Which Has Succeeded Which. This Is The Rock Over Which The Proud Gates Of Hell Prevail Not.