“Nothing is mysterious, no human relation. Except love,” Susan Sontag wrote in her diary. “There is hardly any activity, any enterprise, which is started with such tremendous hopes and expectations, and yet, which fails so regularly, as love,” philosopher Erich Fromm asserted in his 1956 masterwork on the art of loving and what is keeping us from mastering it. The great Zen teacher Thich Nhat Hahn went as far as admonishing that “to love without knowing how to love wounds the person we love.” “The many vexations and perturbations that torture the soul of the passionate lover,” cautioned a 17th-century treatise on lovesickness, “bring about greater harms to men than all the other affections of the mind.” Keats, once afflicted by love, was ready to die for it.