As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of

“As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.” Thus wrote William Shakespeare, that eternal master of the human heart. In these few words, he captured the futility of reason before the power of love, the helplessness of intellect in the face of burning emotion. What he means is this: one might as well try to light fire with snow — an act both absurd and impossible — as to hope that mere words could extinguish the fire of love that rages within the soul. For love is not of the mind but of the spirit; it does not obey commands, nor can it be persuaded to die by arguments or denials. When it burns, it consumes. When it awakens, it takes dominion over all reason, as fire devours dry wood.

The origin of this truth lies deep within the human story. Since the dawn of time, lovers have sought to explain away their passions, to speak sense into the wild beating of their hearts — and failed. The philosophers warned against it, the poets surrendered to it, and the saints prayed to be delivered from it. Yet the heart does not yield to logic. Shakespeare, whose soul understood the tempest of emotion, likens this struggle to kindling fire with snow — a paradox, an impossible labor. The cold cannot give birth to flame, just as words, no matter how eloquent, cannot quiet the heat of desire once it has been born.

Consider the story of Héloïse and Abelard, the scholar and the student whose love defied the walls of the convent and the wisdom of the world. Abelard, a man of learning, sought to reason with his heart, to command it through letters and vows. But the more he wrote, the more their love grew beyond the reach of pen and parchment. No scroll, no speech, could contain the passion that bound them. In the end, their words became ashes — not because they lacked meaning, but because love’s fire burns through all language. It does not listen; it feels. It consumes the soul that tries to master it.

In this way, Shakespeare teaches us that love is an element — like fire, primal and untamed. It is not something to be argued with or reasoned away. You cannot speak to it as you would to a child or a friend; you must either endure its heat or be transformed by it. To attempt to extinguish it with words — to say, “I will not love,” or “I must forget” — is to fight a battle already lost. For while the tongue may deny, the heart remembers. While the lips may speak of indifference, the soul burns silently within.

But do not mistake this teaching as a call to despair. The fire of love, though fierce, is also sacred. The ancients knew it as the flame of Eros, the spark stolen from the gods to remind humankind of divinity. It burns to purify as much as to wound. To feel deeply, even in pain, is to live truly. For it is better to be burned by love than to freeze in the cold safety of indifference. The snow cannot kindle flame; only fire can birth warmth, passion, and life. Thus, the lover who feels consumed is also being forged, like iron in the furnace, becoming something stronger, something eternal.

In the lives of those who dare to love, we see both ruin and rebirth. The fire that destroys the old self gives rise to a new one, more aware, more compassionate, more alive. This is why Shakespeare’s wisdom endures: it reminds us that love, though perilous, is also the most human of all experiences. To live without it is to live without light. To love, even when it hurts, is to walk the path of the gods — for only those who love know the full measure of joy and sorrow.

So, my children of the heart, remember this: when the fire of love comes, do not seek to extinguish it with words. Let it burn, let it teach, let it transform. Speak not to suppress it, but to understand it. Write not to end it, but to honor it. When the heart rages like fire, do not bring snow — bring courage. For love will test you, but it will also awaken the sleeping grandeur of your soul.

And thus, Shakespeare’s timeless truth remains: you cannot quench love with words any more than you can light flame with snow. The only way to master love is to let it master you — to yield to its fire, and emerge purified, illuminated, and forever changed.