byron I

“I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of an excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake or an eternal fever.”   --Lord Byron, in a letter to Thomas Moore, 5 July 1821

If I had been sitting across from Byron I would probably have just nodded (in what I hope would have seemed a thoughtfully aloof manner) and swooned -- because Byron is the kind of guy for whom I would have fallen hard.  He was one of the original "boys in the band" and I would have tried to play it cool, hanging out, affecting disinterest -- but I would have only been able to keep that up for so long --  soon enough I would have ended up a little pathetic and a lot heartbroken.  

But I digress...  What I meant to say is that as much as my heart would try to argue, Byron is right, almost.  Passion, inflamed, has the power to move -- it is intoxicating -- and addicting -- and fleeting.  The ebb of such is a strong pull in the opposite direction that we can leave us wanting -- but a sustained inflammation would surely be the death of most of us.  So, the way I see it, there is passion and passion inflamed.  While we may live for the explosions, we might also find that it's the coals and embers that keep us alive.