At first, they were like two of the village dogs calling to each other under a sky full of incomprehensible stars. They were free as the water that ran down the mountains around them. They were like the mountaineering tourists the other locals scoffed at. Then, too heavy for those altitudes of love, he lost his foothold and fell into bitter memory, into a kind of disgrace. But as he fell his falling changed and he knew he had to fall, that love is falling, that it’s no coincidence when we say we fall in and out of love: and that we’re always falling, whether we’re in or out of love.
– Kafka, The Castle