Under The Volcano - pg. 10

He watched the clouds: dark swift horses surging up the sky. A black storm breaking out of its season! That was what love was like, he thought; love which came too late. Only no sane calm succeeded it, as when the evening fragrance or slow sunlight and warmth returned to the surprised land! M. Laruelle hastened his steps still further. And let such love strike you dumb, blind, mad, dead - your fate would not be altered by your simile. Tonnerre de dieu ... It slaked no thirst to say what love was like which came too late.