Oh, some of us "loved" her. The Maginot Line. And Cholly loved her. I'm sure he did. He, at any rate, was the one who loved her enough to touch her, envelope her, give something of her filled the matrix of her agony with death. Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye.
The speaker reflects on the complexities of love, suggesting that the nature of one's love is deeply influenced by their character. They mention that love manifests differently depending on the lover's traits—wickedness breeds wicked love, while weakness breeds weak love. Thus, the quality of love is a reflection of the person giving it, highlighting the moral implications behind the feelings we cherish.
The statement emphasizes that true love can be a double-edged sword. The act of loving can inadvertently strip the beloved of their agency, presenting them as mere objects of affection. This dynamic illustrates how the intense gaze of the lover may overshadow the loved one's autonomy, leaving them vulnerable and diminished in the face of such ardent love.
