When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity — in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.
From The Gift of the Sea (1955) by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (1906-2001), daughter of a U.S. diplomat and wife of world famous aviator Charles Lindbergh. Lindbergh was vacationing on Captiva Island in Florida when she reflected on the lives of American women. Her meditations became the source material for the book. The book quickly rose to the top of the nonfiction bestseller list in 1955; since then, it has sold more than 3 million copies and has been translated into more than three dozen languages.