"I dont know much about love," she said, "and I do not like to talk of things I do not understand; but i have heard two opinions. Some say the Devil carried the seed from hell, and planted it on the earth to plague men and make them sin; and some say, that when all the plants in he garden of Eden were pulled up by the roots, one bush that the angels had planted was left growing, and it spread its seed over the whole earth, and its name is love. I do not know which is right--perhaps both. There are different species that go under the same name. There is a love that begins in the head, and goes down to the heart, and grows slowly; but it lasts till death, and asks less than it gives. There is another love, that blots out wisdom, that is sweet with the sweetness of life and bitter with the bitterness of death, but it is worth having lived a whole life for that hour. I cannot tell: perhaps the old monks were right when they tried the root love out; perhaps the poets were right when they try to water it. It is a blood-red flower, with the color of sin; but there is always the scent of a god about it."
--olive schreiner
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