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“In his extreme youth
Stoner had thought of love as an absolute state of being to which,
if one were lucky,
one might find access;
in his maturity he had decided it was the heaven of a false religion,
toward which one ought to gaze with an amused disbelief,
a gently familiar contempt,
and an embarrassed nostalgia.
Now in his middle age
he began to know that it was neither a state of grace nor an illusion;
he saw it as a human act of becoming,
a condition that was invented and modified moment by moment and day by day,
by the will and the intelligence and the heart.”
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