I Love, I have Loved, I will Love...

"We'll never meet any men locked up here, We're beyond the reach of love...it will kill me!" Rose spat out the words with conviction.
I turned away silently, I would have thought love was the murderous thing, not the lack of it. I am never going to fall in love. Life is dangerous enough.

For anyone wishing explore the concept of love, lust, infatuation, and heart-break from a safe distance, an hour and a half spent watching, "I Capture the Castle" will not be a waste of time.
The novel/movie is narrated by Cassandra who is also the heroine. She aspires to be a writer and keeps a diary hoping to 'capture' in shorthand the characters around her. The result is an honest 'coming of age' account following two sisters in their encounters with adolescent life and yes, love. Forget the love-triangles of soap operas, because this tale features a five character disaster described by the heroine as a party game "where no one gets the prize they want because its all second hand and third best."

I won't spoil the end by saying it all turns out as it should, because it doesn't. Lies and misdirected passion lead only to places of confusion and hurt, however, the author is kind enough to lead us to a place of satisfaction by the close of the book.

Before I haste to recommend this realize it contains nudity and adult themes which, though only rated as PG, I would be uncomfortable to view in mixed company.

Perhaps, love...

This is the last paragraph from Anne of Avonlea. I like the way it presents a view of how Love can slip so softly into our lives that we may not even notice for a while...

It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with pomp and blare, like a knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps. . . perhaps. . .love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before.

The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.