They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the “blaze of passion” often falsely
ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the wide expanses they saw in their walks, the rooms in which they lived or met, took more delight in their love than they themselves did.
Doctor Zhivago/Boris Pasternak