The Satyr and The Nymph. And to those who are nauseous of the human body (most especially this impeccable piece of renaissance art), do the world a favor and sign up for an art history course. Thank me later.
Now there is no conceivable point in which love is completed. I’ve watched my father and mother weather thick and thin, and one thing has been made undeniably clear to me: There is no point in which lovers can sit back and say, “Here we are. We’ve arrived. We love each other. We have finished this project of love.”