Very deep for a first post, I must say. Alas, thus is my nature – fickle, I suppose – that when I am not waxing sagacious, I am disturbingly shallow and self-centred (exhibitionistic); then again, aren’t we all? Fickle and exhibitionistic, I mean.
In any case, the above has nothing to do with love, or death for that matter. It was merely, shall we say, a little self-introductory-ish.
Have you ever pondered the absurd difference between bonjour et bonne journée? Or bonsoir et bonne soirée for that matter? The distinction in use is by habit instinctual, but still… Odd, isn’t it?
What I was (originally) going to say, was that – according to Diotima (Socrates’s wisest of women in Symposium) Eros is “witness to the urgency of love to procreate and bring forth in beauty” what human beings desire in their lack of it (beauty, virtue, happiness, perfection). By consequence, love is then defined as man’s share in immortality, the things that live on beyond death. Fascinating.
Bon nuit.
