Daily Illini, 5 Jan 1926
Being in love is a disease, not fatal as a rule, but confoundedly uncomfortable while it lasts, it usually arrives by degrees.
The first being a mild infatuation generated as a rule by that bit of nothing and everything known as "charm" the average
man at this stage confines himself to the meeting and dating of the object of his affections, which in itself leads to the
second, the desire to know more of the girl, her life, her ambitions, hopes, tastes and desires and to the calculation of
the average upkeep as evinced by the type of fur coat she possesses, the third is absolutely maudlin poetry (?) the boreing of all of
his "frat" brothers with lengthy tales of all she did and said and how she looked and walked, and all, until murder would be
mild indeed. This period is often marked by many fights, from which if he emerges victorious, he feels heroic, and, if whipped,
martyred. It is at this stage he usually become heir to the title of "A Pain in the Neck". The final throes take one of two
courses, he either starts all over again with another heroine, or (and this is pitiful) he marries. The fact remains,
he loses either way, so what beats it?