Love doesn't grow on the trees like apples in Eden - it's something you have to make and you must use your imagination to make it too, just like anything else. It's all work, work.
My novels point out that the world consists entirely of exceptions.
Sara could commit adultery at one end and weep for her sins at the other, and enjoy both operations at once.
A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry, and a hundred in dress.
