Love

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it
alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever fixed mark That looks on tempests,
and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be
taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love
alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom:-- If this be error, and upon
me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved."
W. Shakespeare.