... while I was cooking was Puccini's Manon Lescaut. At one point, I took a break and sat on the sofa in the living room (ours is a tiny house). The intermezzo was playing, and I found myself for a moment intensely moved. Certain sequences simply clutch the heart and ring a tear from the eye. I can't imagine that there is a naturalistic explanation for such - whether mathematical, chemical, or glandular. And even is there were I doubt if it would prove adequate to the experience. That is the thing about passion: It is much more than the sum of whatever goes into it or precipitates it.
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