The Witch's Head

I just love to read books written by men describing how men feel about women they love...

“I say Doll,” replied Jeremy, whose general appearance was that of a man plunged into the depths of misery, “don't laugh at a fellow; if you only knew what I feel–inside, you know–you wouldn't–”
“What! are you not well? have some brandy?” suggested his sister, in genuine alarm.
“Don't be an idiot, Doll; it isn't my stomach, it's here”; and he knocked his right lung, under the impression that he was indicating the position of his heart.
“And what do you feel, Jeremy?”
“Feel!” he answered with a groan; “what don't I feel? When I am away from her I feel a sort of sinking, just like one does when one has to go without one's dinner, only it's always there. When she looks at me I go hot and cold all over, and when she smiles it's just as though one had killed a couple of woodcocks right and left.”
“Good gracious, Jeremy!” interposed his sister, who was beginning to think he had gone off his head; “and what happens if she doesn't smile?”
“Ah, then,” he replied, sadly, “it's as though one had missed them both.”