Oh, what a catastrophe, what a maiming of love when it was made a personal, merely personal feeling, taken away from the rising and the setting of the sun, and cut off from the magic connection of the solstice and equinox! This is what is the matter with us, we are bleeding at the roots, because we are cut off from the earth and sun and stars, and love is a grinning mockery, because, poor blossom, we plucked it from it's stem on the tree of Life, and expected it to keep blooming in our civilized vase on the table.
-D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover
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