If he writes her a few sonets, he loves her. 

If he writes her 300 sonets, he loves sonets.

  

Rubatosis: (n) The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

Sonder: (n) The realization that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own

Exulansis: (n) The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

Opia: (n) The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable

Nodus Tollens: (n) The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit: (n) The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.

Jouska: (n) A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.

We’re not God’s children, 

we’re not fairy-tale people in a book about true love. 

We live by night and dance fast so the grass can’t grow under our feet.

“Does such a thing as 'the fatal flaw,' that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn't. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.” 

                                                  

                                               ― Donna Tartt, The Secret History

PHAENOMENA 

From Zeus let us begin; 

him do we mortals never leave unnamed; 

full of Zeus are all the streets and all the market-places of men;

full is the sea and the havens thereof; 

always we all have need of Zeus. 

For we are also his offspring; 

and he in his kindness unto men giveth favourable signs 

and wakeneth the people to work, reminding them of livelihood. 

He tells what time the soil is best for the labour of the ox and for the mattock,

and what time the seasons are favourable both for the planting of trees and for casting all manner of seeds.

For himself it was who set the signs in heaven, and marked out the constellations, 

and for the year devised what stars chiefly should give to men right signs of the seasons,

to the end that all things might grow unfailingly. 

Wherefore him do men ever worship first and last. 

Hail, O Father, mighty marvel, mighty blessing unto men. 

Hail to thee and to the Elder Race! Hail, ye Muses, right kindly, every one! 

But for me, too, in answer to my prayer direct all my lay, even, as is meet, 

to tell the stars.

                                      - Aratus