Post an excerpt from a book/poem that proves men are capable

sounds like you've got your own standard as to what that is, would you mind sharing it with the class?

It's been evolutionarily proven that women are actually incapable of love. They've been conditioned for hundreds of thousands of years to be obsessed with the material.

>>9916540
Literally the
>"she's beautiful"
meme again

>buying into a meme invented by medieval troubadours
xD

File: 1502517742365.png (194KB, 1400x595px) Image search: [Google]

194KB, 1400x595px

Jean Valjean. Not romantic love, but still true love.

>Poor old Jean Valjean, of course, loved Cosette only as a father; but, as we noted earlier, into this fatherly love his lonely single status in life had introduced every other kind of love; he loved Cosette as his daughter, and he loved her as his mother, and he loved her as his sister; and, as he had never had either a lover or a wife, as nature is a creditor that does not accept nonpayment, that particular feeling, too, the most indestructible of all, had thrown itself in with the rest, vague, ignorant, heavenly, angelic, divine; less a feeling than an instinct, less an instinct than an attraction, imperceptible and invisible but real; and love, truly called, lay in his enormous tenderness for Cosette the way a vein of gold lies in the mountain, dark and virginal.
>We should bear in mind that state of the heart that we have already mentioned. Marriage between them was out of the question, even that of souls; and yet it is certain that their destinies had joined together as one. Except for Cosette, that is, except for a child, Jean Valjean had never, in all his long life, known anything about love. Serial passions and love affairs had not laid those successive shades of green over him, fresh green on top of dark green, that you notice on foliage that has come through winter and on men that have passed their fifties. In short, and we have insisted on this more than once, this whole inner fusion, this whole set, the result of which was lofty virtue, had wound up making Jean Valjean a father for Cosette. A strange father, forged out of the grandfather, son, brother, and husband that were all in Jean Valjean; a father in whom there was even a mother; a father who loved Cosette and worshipped her, and for whom that child was light, was home, was his homeland, was paradise.

File: 1251.jpg (102KB, 500x497px) Image search: [Google]

102KB, 500x497px

>>9917662
>pedophilia

>>9916257
Read Aquinas.

>>9917713
>Aquinas
I've been meaning to. Which work deals with love, precisely?

>>9917705
I said:
>not romantic love

She shifted down off her seat at the bow of the small boat, still gripping his hand tightly. "Lie down with me," she said.

"What?" His pulse leapt in his throat.

Spreading out their dry clothes on the rough boards beneath them, she lay down and watched him expectantly until he settled beside her. The enormous sky stretched out above like a canopy of softly changing lights that turned from violet to pink, to yellow and red, and then a deep dark blue. He might have been fascinated by the show if he wasn't so acutely aware of her beside him, and the heat of her hand in his, or the smooth bare skin of her arm pressed to his own.

"This is why I love this place," she said, lifting her free hand to point at the heavens. "Look."

The first star had appeared. Lulled by the sighs of the ocean and the gently rocking waves beneath them, he gradually began to relax and watch the show unfolding before his eyes. They said nothing as the sky deepened to black and the stars shone down like pin-pricks of light puncturing the universe – and not just a few, or a few hundred, but thousands. He hadn't seen this many stars in his life. He'd never before bothered to stop long enough to notice.

"This is the best place to see the stars, so far away from all the lights and pollution," she said eventually, when they could even trace the milky-way from one end of the sky to the other. "My mother used to say that every star represents a life. When you see a shooting star, it means someone has passed on. But there are new stars being birthed all the time… and there are millions more that you can't see with the naked eye just yet."

"Which one are you?" he asked.

She lifted their joined hands and pointed. "That one right there."

"Where?"

"That dim one next to that blazing bright one."

"Nah," he said dismissively. "You'll be that one there."

"That's the north star!" she protested.

"So?"

"My head isn't that big."

"Then we'll be those two over there."

"Huh?"

"The two right next to each other, like they're lying together in a boat."

She moved her head closer to his to follow his pointing finger. "Oh, yeah," she murmured with a soft laugh, and for a long time they lay, contemplating the stars with her head on his shoulder and her hand curled in his. She couldn't have known have fast his heart raced for her.

At last she whispered, "We'll go tomorrow."

He smiled, relieved despite his promise that he would stay with her, if that was what she wanted. "Cool," he said in an understated tone.

She turned her face to his, and instinctively he did the same. Their noses almost bumped but neither drew back. They'd been caught in a moment which might have been inevitable since the moment she'd accepted his hand, and they both knew what came next. Deep green eyes searched his, uncertainty tinged with hope, reflected in his own.

When their lips came together, he had never known anything like it.

And from that point on, everything changed.