Again she experienced a wave of weariness, a numbing heaviness in her neck and shoulders, her very bones. This, finally, was love. This was its shape and essence, once the lust and ecstasy and danger and adventure had gone. Love, at its core, was negotiation, the surrender of two individuals to the messy, banal, domestic realities of sharing a life together. In this way, in love, she could secure a familiar happiness. She had to forgo the risk of an unknown, most likely impossible, most probably unobtainable, alternate happiness. She couldn’t take the risk. She was too tired… I am safe and that’s all everyone wants; only the young and the deluded would want anything else or believe that there is anything more to love than that.
— Christos Tsiolkas, The Slap
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