Is love a choice, or something that happens to us?
In poetry, love is almost always something that happens to you: you "fall", you're struck, you're helpless. But in many families and religious traditions, love is described as a commitment you choose and keep choosing.
Harry Frankfurt, in The Reasons of Love (2004), argues that we don't love things because we find them valuable; rather, they become valuable to us because we love them. And love isn't fully under our control.
Stendhal, in On Love (1822), described "crystallisation": like a bough left in a salt mine that becomes covered with sparkling crystals, the beloved becomes covered in perfections by the lover's imagination.
So is love a choice, an event, or both? And if it's an event, can we be responsible for whom we love?