by 
Ursula K Le Guin (October 21, 1929 – January 22, 2018)
There is no less or greater in an absolute thing. All or nothing at all, the true lover says, and that’s the truth of it. My love will never die, he says. He claims eternity. And rightly. How can it die when it is life itself? What do we know of eternity but the glimpse we get of it when we enter into that bond?
