Byron's Don Juan...

I've been watching Don Juan DeMarco here and there over the last couple of days from a recording on our DVR. As someone who suffers from an incurable case of romanticism, I love this movie. It is surely the tale Byron meant to portray with his Don Juan. And it speaks to that silly, daydreamy, poetic, passionate side of me.

I think most women have a side like that, even if we don't let on to it often. It can be hard and embarrassing to open up to it, to be vulnerable enough to let down our guards when a man might look at or speak to us that way. We laugh. We say it’s corny or hokey or lame.

And, unfortunately, a lot of men come off that way when they try to be poetic or passionate, or we can see right through their façade and into their intentions, which are far from our own.

Men…

But sometimes, some of them with pure intentions can get us to open up and hear it. And believe it. And believe them.

What a rare and wondrous thing that is.

I thank God for poetic souls and passionate people. People who can feel and think. And people who express it all.

Like when Don Juan says:

“There are only four questions of value in life. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for? And what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same: only love.”

Or when some of the most powerful poets write:

“Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move his aides, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.” (Shakespeare)

“The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.” (Shakespeare)

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion - I have shudder'd at it. I shudder no more. I could be martyr'd for my religion. Love is my religion, and I could die for that. I could die for you.” (Keats)

“Touch has a memory.” (Keats)

“…if all I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my feelings are, and must ever be, towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer.” (Byron)

“Oh, God! that we had met in time, our hearts as fond, thy hand more free; when thou hadst loved without a crime, and I been less unworthy thee! Then to the things whose bliss or woe, like mine, is wild and worthless all, that world resign---such scenes forego, where those who feel must surely fall.” (Byron)