It is in Love that “confusion makes his masterpiece.” The lover is so
incessantly tossed on the ocean of turbulent emotion that he soon ceases
to know or care which is up and which down, and all that remains is an
all-engrossing sense of love-sickness.
“Angels call it heavenly joy,
Infernal torture the devils say;
And men? They call it—Love.”—HEINE.