Unless/Until you showcase your love to someone else/others you've not yet started loving truly. For, it takes two or more to tangle/tango i.e. the impact of your love ought to be felt maximally by someone else/others.
Virtuous motives, trammeled by inertia and timidity, are no match for armed and resolute wickedness. A sincere love of peace is no excuse for muddling hundreds of millions of humble folk into total war. The cheers of the weak, well-meaning assemblies soon cease to count. Doom marches on.
Wayne Tell me, when the first show is over, will you still love me when I'm an incredibly humungoid giant star Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Will you still love me when I'm in my hanging-out-with-Ravi-Shankar phase Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Will you still love me when I'm in my carbohydrate, sequined-jumpsuit, young-girls-in-white-cotton-panties, waking-up-in-a-pool-of-your-own-vomit, bloated-purple-dead-on-a-toilet phase Cassandra Yeah. Wayne Okay, party. Bonus.
We all carry around so much pain in our hearts. Love and pain and beauty. They all seem to go together like one little tidy confusing package. It's a messy business, life. It's hard to figure--full of surprises. Some good. Some bad.