From Fernado Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, Entry 363
We cannot love, son. Love is the most carnal of illusions. Listen: to love is to possess. And what does a lover possess? The body? To possess it we would have to incorporate it, to eat it, to make its substance our own. And this possibility, were it possible, wouldn't last, becayse our body passes on and transforms, becayse we don't even possess our body (just the sensation of it), and because once the beloved body were possessed it would become ours and stop being other, and so love, with the disppearance of the other, would likewise disappear.