An individual who was able to overcome the grief of the loss of dopamine in the ephemeral and moribund high of being in love would cling to his former pleasure-inducer as a source of meaning in life's vicissitudes.
"Corpus of a Siam Mosquito"
Steven Sills
There came to them No steadfast sign of winter nor of spring, Flower perfumed, nor summer full of fruit; But blindly and lawlessly they did all things, Until I taught them how the stars do rise And set in mystery, and devised for them Number, the inducer of philosophies, The synthesis of letters, and, beside, The artificer of all things, Memory, That sweet Muse-Mother.
"Story of Orestes A Condensation of the Trilogy"
Richard G. Moulton