"…Beware. Love never dies of a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source, it dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illnesses and wounds, it does of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings, but never of natural death. Every lover could be brought to trial as the murderer of his own love."
Anaïs Nin in The Four Chambered Heart (via sensitive) (via ncoloso)
