The following is an excerpt from a story by the 19th century French writer, Guy de Maupaasant. This is one of the best descriptions I've ever encountered on being in love.
I had been madly in love with her. Why do people fall in love? How strange it is that in the whole world you can see only one creature, have in your mind only one thought, in your heart only one desire, and on your lips only one name -- a name which you say over and over again, which you constantly murmur wherever you go, just as though it were the words of a prayer.
I will not tell you our story. Love has only one story -- and it is always the same. I had met her and loved her. That is all. And I had lived for a year in her tenderness, in her arms, in her caresses, in her gaze, in everything she wore, in everything she said, so utterly wrapped up and imprisoned in everything that was hers that I no longer knew whether it was day or night, whether I was dead or alive, whether I was on earth or in heaven.
Guy de Maupassant
