"The brain appears to possess a
special area which we might call poetic memory
and which records everything that
charms or touches us,
that makes our lives beautiful...
Their love story did not begin until afterwards:
she fell ill and he was unable to
send her home as he had the others.
Kneeling by her as she lay sleeping in his bed,
he realized that someone had sent her
downstream in a bulrush basket.
I have said before that metaphors are dangerous.
Love begins with a metaphor.
Which is to say, love begins at the point
when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory."
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
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