Some think love can be measured by the amount of butterflies in

The words of Marian Keyes are tender and profound, spoken with the wisdom of one who has looked beneath the glitter of passion into the steady flame of truth: “Some think love can be measured by the amount of butterflies in their tummy. Others think love can be measured in bunches of flowers, or by using the words ‘forever.’ But love can only truly be measured by actions. It can be a small thing, such as peeling an orange for a person you love because you know they don’t like doing it.” At once poetic and practical, these words remind us that love is not only a feeling or a promise, but a deed. It is not what is proclaimed, but what is done.

Many have confused love with grand gestures or fleeting sensations. They imagine that the trembling of the body, the thrill of passion, or the endless repetition of sweet words is proof of its depth. But Keyes unveils the deeper reality: true love lives in the realm of the everyday, in the unnoticed kindnesses, the small sacrifices, the acts that reveal care more than any declaration. For feelings rise and fall like waves, and flowers fade, but deeds endure, binding hearts with threads stronger than gold.

The ancients knew this truth well. In the story of Ruth, who followed her mother-in-law Naomi through famine and exile, we see love not in flowers or promises, but in unwavering loyalty and daily acts of devotion. Ruth gleaned in the fields, endured hardship, and remained when it would have been easier to leave. Her actions, humble yet steadfast, proved a love more enduring than passion. Like peeling an orange for another, these were small things, yet together they spoke more loudly than the most eloquent words.

History too offers mirrors of this wisdom. Consider Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp. Her love for humanity was not expressed in poetry or bouquets, but in her tireless tending of wounded soldiers, walking through dark wards with her light, offering comfort in silence. She did not need to say “forever”; her actions declared it. So too, in every true relationship, the worth of love is not measured in what is promised, but in what is quietly, consistently done.

Keyes’s example of peeling an orange is especially profound. It shows that love is often hidden in what seems trivial. It is the husband who rises early to warm his wife’s coat before she steps out in the cold. It is the friend who listens without judgment. It is the parent who sacrifices sleep for a restless child. Such acts may seem small, but they form the very foundation upon which all enduring love rests. Without them, declarations are hollow; with them, even silence speaks volumes.

The lesson, O seeker, is clear: measure love not by intensity of feeling, nor by extravagance of display, but by consistency of deed. Ask not how much passion burns in the moment, but how often your actions reflect care, thoughtfulness, and sacrifice. For feelings will shift like the wind, but actions, repeated with devotion, become the architecture of love itself.

Practical wisdom follows: look for small ways to serve those you cherish. Do not wait for grand occasions—practice daily kindness. Peel the orange, hold the door, write the note, share the burden. Let your actions speak even when your words are few. And when you seek love in others, look not for the one who dazzles you with promises, but for the one who shows up, time and again, with gentle, steady acts of care.

So let Marian Keyes’s words endure as a lantern in the darkness: “Love can only truly be measured by actions.” For it is not the butterfly, nor the bouquet, nor the word “forever” that proves the depth of the heart, but the daily deed, humble and sincere. In these acts lies the truest form of love—quiet, constant, and eternal.