“ What is love? What is marriage? A person with whom to share your loneliness? Isn’t this what every human being must have … someone who lets the little tiny that is really and truly “you” out of the shadowy hiding place in your brain, and accepts this strange “you” and loves whatever this something is that makes you what you are … and loves the mercurial “you” that maybe even sometimes you don’t understand yourself? And you love him in return in the same way, though there are no words for it and it “passes understanding.” Is that kind of love possible except between one man and one woman?
From the Journal of Sheila Grove, The Harrad Experiment by Robert H. Rimmer
