Those Who Love
Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.
"Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself."
--Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
I agree with Sara that usually, those who love most do not talk of their love. On the other hand, those who love most often do sing of their love.
I also agree with Garcia Marquez that for those of us who are aging, our internal feelings of love for our beloved are as vigorous "as when we were in full bloom." Based solely upon my own experience, I'd assert that the internal love is actually deeper and wider than it was when we were younger. In fact, I would argue that it's depth is infinite.