For what is the beloved? She is that which I myself am not. In the act of love, I am pure male, and she is pure female. She is she, and I am I, and clasped together with her, I know how perfectly she is not me, now perfectly I am not her, how utterly we are two, the light and the darkness, and how infinetly and eternally, not-to-be-comprehended by either of us is the surpassing One we make.
-D. H. Lawrence
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