On love not being a promise of tranquility, not something to be controlled, and having no other desire but love itself…

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you…

[…]

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

[…]

And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires
…
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love…