Replying to Rosalind in Shakespeare’s ‘As you Like it’, her friend Celia tells her ‘…love is but burs in our petticoat’. Burs are tiny pointed arrow like pricky grass needlets which very easily get fastened to below the waist line dress and it is always so difficult to get rid of them as a result of which they continue piercely pricking the passerby victims. Analysed with a complete picture of the problem it causes, a total scenario can be drawn as to what sort of tortuousness it is capable of causing. Love in reality is like that only. Celia’s pointer to Rosalind abundantly holds good for all lovers. Although it sounds like a note of caution for the love lorns, it speaks volumes on intensity of love and twitchinglly painful pangs of seclusion it renders. Love is the one phenomenon which was like this in the past, which goes on the same way on date and is to continue with same degree of intensity for eternity.