Johann Gottlieb Fichte, inventor of the personal identity that, stolen by the romantics and rewired like Frankenstein you are making use of to browse through these words, said this:

That’s how it is. Love, that is actually love and not simply a passing fancy, never tethers itself to what is past but wakes to, is inflamed by and comes to rest only in the eternal.

Can you imagine saying that in public today? It was revolutionary in the late 18th century. It is still revolutionary. This is revolutionary:

That’s what eternity looks like. That, said Fichte, is the point by which we should measure our love: not what those yellow-bellied marmots were up to last year, so it can be repeated, but what they are going to be up to 100 years from now. The time between is eternity.