I once saw a British TV spot for Hamlet Cigars which featured an oddball posing in a photo booth, but so endearingly. For years on, when asked to smile, I affected his toothy grimace, thinking my rendition channeled but transcended his comically unbecoming turn. I channeled nothing of it, each time, I can confirm.
 
Now I’ve traced my abuse of adverbs, not to this song, but to the spirit in which Broadway lyricist Dorothy Fields used THREE to frame the verses of Love is the Reason from the musical version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. In this song showstopping comic Shirley Booth advises her younger sister on love, ornamenting her insight with the authority-robbing qualifiers, meant to be irrelevant. Aspire as I might to stop, HANDILY I am my parody.

Love is the Reason
Each line is echoed by the chorus
(Parentheses indicate where reply varies)

Spoken: Suppose your mother never stood in a dark vestibule with your father, they might never have had to get married. Why do you suppose they did it? It was love.

  Love is the reason you was born,
  Love was the gleam in Papa’s eye.
  People suddenly meet, People suddenly fit,
  People suddenly hit, And brother, that’s it!

PERSONALLY Love is a kick right in the pants,
Love is the aspirin you buy.
If you’re flappin’ your fins, If you’re climbin’ a wall,
There must be a reason for it all. (What is the reason for it?)
Love is the reason for it all!

  Love is a night you can’t recall,
  Love is that extra drink you drank.
  Love’s a shot in the arm, Love’s a poke in the ribs,
  Buyin’ bottles and bibs, And fillin’ up cribs.

OBVIOUSLY Love is an old established trap,
Ten million suckers walk the plank.
If you land on your tail, Ev’ry time that you fall,
There must be a reason for it all. (Who needs a reason for it?)
Love is the reason for it all!

  Love is a toothache in your heart,
  Love is a gentlemanly pinch.
  Love is stubbin’ your toe, Mashed potatoes with lumps,
  Wearin’ very tight pumps, Or catchin’ the mumps.

GENERALLY Love is a blow below the belt,
Love is a holdin’ in a clinch.
If you shut your big mouth When his relatives call,
There must be a reason for it all. (Who needs a reason for it?)
Always the teasin’ in the hall; (Hallways are lovely for a call;)
Call it the season, I say, love is the reason for it all.