I don't particularly believe all love is doomed. But I guess, one is usually kinda suffering from some aborted love affair or association, rather than being at the peak of one. I think it's fairly obvious that a lot more suffering goes on in the name of love than the little happiness you can squeeze out of it.
Interpretation
Love often brings more pain than joy.
In this quote, Nick Cave reflects on the dual nature of love, suggesting that while love can be beautiful, it frequently leads to heartache and disappointment. He implies that people often remember their struggles with love more than the moments of happiness, indicating that the emotional turmoil associated with love affairs is a common experience that overshadows fleeting joys.
In practice
During a heartfelt discussion about relationships and breakups.
The idea of songwriting is a transformative thing, and what I do with songwriting is take situations that are quite ordinary and transform them in some way. Apart from things like the murder ballads, the songs I write, at their core, are quite ordinary human concerns, but the process of writing about them transforms them into something else.
The writer who refuses to explore the darker regions of the heart will never be able to write convincingly about the wonder, the magic and the joy of love for just as goodness cannot be trusted unless it has breathed the same air as evil.
But if you're gonna dine with them cannibals Sooner or later, darling, you're gonna get eaten . . .
Music is storming, driving, relentless, devotional, slinky, subtle, heartbreakingly-beautiful sounds that, lyrically, switch from the cynical to the sanguine, the defeated to the defiant, dealing in love, war, beauty, children, romance, rejection, Pethedine, poetry, panties, God, Auden, Johnny Cash, cold potatoes, too-much-money, not enough money, writer’s block, flowers, animals and more flowers. But maybe I’m projecting here.
Who knows their own story? It certainly makes no sense when you’re in the middle of it
And I wish that I was made of stone So that I would not have to see A beauty impossible to define A beauty impossible to believe A beauty impossible to endure The blood imparted in little sips The smell of you still on my hands As I bring the cup up to my lips No God up in the sky No devil beneath the sea Could do the job that you did, baby Of bringing me to my knees
He thought her beautiful, believed her impeccably wise; dreamed of her, wrote poems to her, which, ignoring the subject, she corrected in red ink.
Inner sense of worth that comes with being in love does not seem to depend essentially on whether the love is returned or not.
We are pain and what cures pain, both. We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours. I want to hold you close like a lute, so that we can cry out with loving. Would you rather throw stones at a mirror? I am your mirror and here are the stones.
I do not accept any less than someone just as real, as fabulous!
To the lover the loved one always appears as solitary.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh_x000D_ _x000D_ And love not bound in hearts of flesh_x000D_ _x000D_ No aching breasts would yearn to meet_x000D_ _x000D_ And find their ecstasy complete._x000D_ _x000D_ For who is there that lives and knows_x000D_ _x000D_ The secret powers by which he grows?
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