It's difficult to attest to love. On the one hand, it's quite easy to attest to the beauty of it : the feeling of euphoria so commonly referred to as butterflies. Yet, it's quite difficult to attest the other hand : difficult nights of strife and grief. As with anything in love, the bliss is often the only facet of falling in love to which humans are willing to subject. Hardly anyone would want to subject themselves solely to the grief. The only reason we endure such grief in the first place is because the butterflies make it worth it. Creatures such as ourselves simply don't choose to feel pain, yet our higher reasoning somehow finds worth in the effort because of love. The greatest testimony to its beauty is its survival, the valiant human tendency to endure despite the latter difficulty in attesting. Truly, one can never put a price on the aspect of falling in love. But foregoing the costs as well as the previous haunts, that's the true beauty of it. And it's quite certainly a cost to which many of us are willing to partake.