20 intriguing facts about Love

1. When a person falls in love, the ventral segmental area in the brain floods the caudate nucleus with dopamine. The caudate then signals for more dopamine; the more dopamine, the higher a person feels. The same system becomes activated when someone takes cocaine.

2. When someone looks at a new love, the neural circuits that are usually associated with social judgment are suppressed.

3. A four-leaf clover is often considered good luck, but it is also part of an Irish love ritual. In some parts of Ireland, if a woman eats a four-leaf clover while thinking about a man, supposedly he will fall in love with her.

4. Studies show that if a man meets a woman in a dangerous situation (and vice versa), such as on a trembling bridge, he is more likely to fall in love with her than if he met her in a more mundane setting, such as in an office.

5. Women around the world are more likely to fall in love with partners with ambition, education, wealth, respect, status, a sense of humor, and who are taller than they are.

6. The longer and more deliberate a courtship, the better the prospects for a long marriage. People who have intense, Hollywood-type romances at the beginning are more likely to divorce.

7. Women often feel loved when talking face to face with their partner; men, on the other hand, often feel emotionally close when they work, play, or talk side by side.

8. Historically, sweat has been an active ingredient in perfume and love potions.

9. The Mexican chief Montezuma considered chocolate a “love drug” and drank 50 cups of chocolate a day before visiting his harem of 600 women.

Define Love

1. "You can't put a price tag on love. But if you could, I'd wait for it to go on sale." — Hussein Nishah
2. "I thought I was promiscuous, but it turns out I was just thorough." — Russell Brand
3. "Eighty percent of married men cheat in America. The rest cheat in Europe." — Jackie Mason
4. "I love you no matter what you do, but do you have to do so much of it?" — Jean Illsley Clarke
5. "Love is telling someone their hair extensions are showing." — Natasha Leggero 
6. "I'm now making a Jewish porno film. 10% sex, 90% guilt." — Henny Youngman
7. "My friends tell me I have an intimacy problem. But they don't really know me." — Garry Shandling
8. "Honesty is the key to a relationship. If you can fake that, you’re in." — Richard Jeni
9. "If love is the answer, could you please rephrase the question?" — Lily Tomlin
10. "Marry a man your own age; as your beauty fades, so will his eyesight." — Phyllis Diller
11. "My best birth control now is just to leave the lights on." — Joan Rivers
12. "Love is grand; divorce is a hundred grand." — Unknown
13. "Love is a lot like a backache, it doesn't show up on X-rays, but you know it's there." — George Burns
14. "I was married by a judge. I should have asked for a jury." — Groucho Marx
15. "Women cannot complain about men anymore until they start getting better taste in them." — Bill Maher
16. "If you can stay in love for more than two years, you're on something." — Fran Lebowitz 
17. "Marriage is really tough because you have to deal with feelings and lawyers." — Richard Pryor
18. "There are only three things women need in life: food, water, and compliments." — Chris Rock
19. "Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place." — Billy Crystal

20. "Women love a self-confident bald man." — Larry David

21. "My brother is gay and my parents don’t care, as long as he marries a doctor." — Elayne Boosler
22. "My wife gets all the money I make. I just get an apple and clean clothes every morning." — Ray Romano
23. "I went to a meeting for premature ejactulators. I left early." — Jack Benny
24. "Obviously, if I was serious about having a relationship with someone long-term, the last people I would introduce him to would be my family." — Chelsea Handler
25. "My wife was afraid of the dark... then she saw me naked and now she's afraid of the light." — Rodney Dangerfield
26. "I know a man who gave up smoking, drinking, sex, and rich food. He was healthy right up to the time he killed himself." — Johnny Carson
27. "Love is the answer, but while you're waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions." — Woody Allen
28. "Being a good husband is like being a stand-up comic. You need 10 years before you can call yourself a beginner." — Jerry Seinfeld
29. "Real love amounts to withholding the truth, even when you're offered the perfect opportunity to hurt someone's feelings." — David Sedaris
30. "I love being married. It's so great to find one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life." — Rita Rudner 
31. "Marriage has no guarantees. If that's what you're looking for, go live with a car battery." — Erma Bombeck

Define LOVE

I just found this, it's pretty touching and interesting to see how kids think about this subject.

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year olds, ‘What does love mean?’

The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.

‘When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love.’
Rebecca - age 8

‘When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.’
Billy - age 4

‘Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.’ 
Karl - age 5

‘Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.’ 
Chrissy - age 6

‘Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired.’ 
Terri - age 4

‘Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.’ 
Danny - age 7

Love again

Sitting in a chair by his side Binita watches Manish’s pale face covered partly with the oxygen mask. Tears appear in her eyes and roll down her cheeks before she has the chance to reach out for the handkerchief in her purse and wipe them away

The engine keeps purring as Anil waits for his sister to get onto the motorcycle. Binita has forgotten her purse inside and is hastily scanning the room that looks quite messed up. In the lawn, a white Pomeranian is basking in the sun. When Anil blows the horn of his motorcycle urging Binita to be quicker, the dog stares at him and wags its tail.  In the bright sunlight Anil can see the fading flowers in the garden. They seem like they need water if they are to remain alive much longer.

“Where have you gone?” Anil shouts at Binita.

 Binita shuts the door and returns with her purse. Soon Anil drives her to the hospital.

In the intensive care ward, Manish lies unconscious in his bed. He is wearing a face mask attached to an oxygen pipe intended to increase the oxygen supply to his lungs. Saline keeps dripping from the bottle that hangs on a metal stand by the bed side and flows into the pipe that leads to Manish’s nerves.

Sitting in a chair by his side Binita watches Manish’s pale face covered partly with the oxygen mask. Tears appear in her eyes and roll down her cheeks before she has the chance to reach out for the handkerchief in her purse and wipe them away.  Unconsciously, when Manish moves his right hand in his sleep, she clasps his palm and gently caresses his forehead.

A few weeks ago, while Binita was doing with dishes in the kitchen after the dinner, her husband had been watching a video from their wedding ceremony on the computer. And it had occurred all of a sudden. She had heard Manish yelling. He was complaining of a severe pain in his head. The next moment Binita had found him lying inert, motionless on the floor. Needless to say, Binita was left terribly shocked.

Later in the hospital, Manish was diagnosed with having had a brain stroke. The doctor said high blood pressure was to blame for the condition. He had explained to Binita that the stroke had led certain blood vessels in his brain to the rupture, causing blood to seep out into brain tissue.  He had mentioned the complications that would arise due to the haemorrhage.

That night Binita had sobbed in the hospital alley. She had not been able to stand on her own feet and her brother had had to support her. She could remember nothing except Manish’s face and with it she sensed a raging, intolerable pain deep in her heart. Crying, she had blamed god, feeling he had conspired against her and her dear husband.

On love and other things

He was restless; his spirits, sunk. His attempts at taking a nap went in vain, sleep wouldn’t come to him. He tossed and turned for a long time before sitting up and opening a book. But that didn’t help him either. The disgusting realisation that the world represented in books was a mere illusion did not let him derive pleasure from them.

Finally, Anil got up and dragged himself from his bed to the window overlooking the dusty road outside. The weather was blisteringly sunny, of the kind he hated the most. A couple of sparrows were playing their usual mating game, perched atop a branch on the apple tree. There were a few guys pooled around a carom board at the shop nearby. They were simply killing time, what else could they do? They were all men without jobs although most of them had completed their Masters. Anil was looking at these guys—all dressed uniformly in shorts and vests, with prickly stubbles on their cheeks and chins—when a little girl toddled past his window. Dressed in a white frock bedecked in blue and red flowers, the girl held a tiny little purse dangling from her right hand. Accompanying her was her mother, in tightly-fitted jeans and a t-shirt that rendered visible every outline of her body, luscious from every angle. Anil tried averting his prying eyes from the woman but couldn’t. She brought to him reminiscences of his loving wife.

How beautiful and innocent his wife was...her tall and slender figure, her beautiful eyes that sparkled so mysteriously! She was the epitome of beauty. Anil was proud to have such a beauty for his wife, a beauty who loved him tremendously. He remembered the first night of his married life, the first time he’d shared his bed with a woman. He recalled the love she had bestowed upon his them, the sort of love that transported him to a transcendent world more majestic and marvellous that everyday reality. How pleasant the night had been. He often wished that night had lasted for good, but time needed to move on its own pace, and nobody could alter or halt its usual course. However, despite all her charm and beauty, Anil held a grudge against Anuradha. Deep down, he was haunted by the fact that his wife was from a village and was uneducated. Her origins proved a serious blot on her personality for him.

The autumn of my life

The crisp leaves rustled as my shoes crushed them into pieces. It reminded me of hopeless and shattered dreams. It was a mistake. I was taking another route back home: something I hadn’t done for months. Everything about that small road in the heart of Kathmandu reminded me of him. It was a mistake, going down that path again, as my tightly stitched wounds of memory threatened to flood all the emotions out. I had locked him up in some corner of my mind, sealed him, enclosed him, and buried him in the depths of my soul.

As I progressed into the narrow road, where no two vehicles can pass at the same time, I saw him. It was just next to that shop down the road where he had bought me cheese balls, when I was five. I remember the cheese balls spilling from the packet, all over the ground, and his heavy voice reprimanding me for being clumsy. His voice, I miss it so much. It was by those trees that he had pushed me on my bicycle, when I was nine. I remember putting my arm around him to announce that I would be the best cyclist ever, the next “Neil” Armstrong perhaps. He had laughed and said, “My little daughter’s going to be a greater cyclist than any Lans Armstong” and humorously encouraged my absurd notion. It was that drain by the road, where we had argued for minutes, when I was eleven. I remember him scolding me, “You shouldn’t expect me to spoon feed you every time,” as he got on his knees by the drain, to stoop down and collect a sample of waste water for my science project. It was on that bench, where my teenage qualms were showing its colors. I remember him, awkwardly trying to understand my inhibitions and fears and confusions. It was just under that dusty old sign saying Mahesh Meat Shop that we had talked about ethics of animal rights and related politics, when I was fourteen. I recall him looking at me then, and saying, “Maybe we’ll have a better society one day.” It was just outside the Saraswati Book House that we had ended up in a quarrel about who the better footballer was: Messi or Ronaldo. I remember him scoffing Messi, my favorite, “Messi is nothing compared to Ronaldo. Ronaldo—now there was a football player, one of the greatest there ever was.” I remember retorting him, “Messi’s the greatest. I’ll marry him one day.” He had laughed then. I can still hear the laughter... I will always hear it.

The small road had come to an end, but it was too late. Tears came rushing in. Deep down tears. I had stopped and restrained those tears, from the day of the announcement of my father’s death to this very day. I had avoided breaking down. I had to be responsible, as the eldest child: a hand, for my mother to hold on, and a shoulder, for my sister to cry upon. But then the tears refused to lie in, and before I knew it, I was hiding behind a bush by the road, and crying, crying for myself...until I could feel no more.

That kind of love

This is not an easy letter for me to write. For the last three years, you’ve been an integral part of my life. Had it not been for you, I don’t think I would have survived in that foreign land. You stood by me through my homesickness, my mood swings, and my search for an identity in the white world. Honestly, I could never quite figure out why you got interested in me, but I will always be grateful. So it is very difficult, but I have to say this -- I don’t love you.
I know this comes as a shock to you since everything was normal between us when I left. You may think that this has to do with my grandmother’s death. Yes, it does; but it is not about her death but about the love in her heart with which she died.

Almost a week before she died, she mumbled out a name with her feeble lips that left the entire family baffled. She had been unconscious for several days and we had begun to call our relatives and prepare them for the news. But, with that name, she sprung back to life.

So, we began to call back our relatives to assure them that grandmother might make it to Dashain. This news of her coming back to life was neither a joyous nor a sad one. Though everyone revered her, she was known to have her favourites even amongst her own sons. All of us, her grandchildren, believed that she loved our housemaid’s daughter more than us. She was what you might call rigid. She didn’t argue with people who didn’t share her values. She rather withdrew from them. And once you were on that list, she’d still smile at you but her cold eyes would make it obvious that she deems you to be a moron not worthy of an argument; least a conversation.

Next couple days, grandma kept calling out the same name. We tried to figure out who she was asking for. There was no one by that name within our family and close relatives. We went through the list of her friends. “May be she means our neighbour’s son, or her aunt’s nephew.”  Eventually, we ruled out everyone. We gave up.

But not my father, you see. He kept calling people, asking for any clue on the name. He spent a lot of time by her; caressing her forehead, rubbing her hands, pulling blanket over her. He didn’t seem relived by her improvement. He continued to be stressed and withdrawn. He seemed to know that my grandmother wasn’t just rambling, that this name meant something significant for her.

What does a woman want?

I am no expert on women and don’t think there are a great many people who can claim to understand the female being. Even the founding father of psychoanalysis was befuddled by them. Freud once said, “The great question that has never been answered, and which I have not yet been able to answer, despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, is ‘What does a woman want?’”. I myself have had very limited experience, if any at all, regarding women. And words like ‘relationship’ and ‘love’— which are being thrown around everywhere as Valentine’s Day approaches—are quite near to the incomprehensible to me.

For a boy like me, who’s never quite fallen in love—the ‘deep’ and quite pointless kind that every other person seems to profess these days—science and sports were the only things that mattered, or even existed, before I came to learn and I suppose even understand to a certain extent, that loving another person is a part of life. The fact that I’ve hardly ever talked to many girls is a major factor. I grew up in a boy’s hostel and don’t recall wanting to talk to any girl while in school. Maybe it was all down to the way I was living. I never felt the need for ‘love’.

But I also see and understand that a fantasy world of one or another kind exists in the mind of every boy. Most boys won’t admit to it, but I’m sure I’m not the only one. An adultery of sorts always exists in the minds and hearts of young men, but they’ll argue with you for hours before accepting defeat and admitting reality.