So the life of love is hidden, but its secret life is itself in motion and has eternity in it. As the quiet lake, however placidly it lies, is really running water — for is there not a wellspring at bottom? — so love, however quiet it is in its concealment, is ever flowing. But the quiet lake can become dry if its source sometime fails. The life of love, on the contrary, has an eternal wellspring. This life is fresh and everlasting — no cold can chill it — it is too fervent for that. And no heat can exhaust it, its coolness is too fresh for that. But it is hidden.