Happiness in this world when it comes comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit and it leads us a wild-goose chase and is never attained. Follow some other object and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness of witherings of tarnishings.
