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 wand'ring 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 even to the edge of doom:
I never writ, nor no man ever loved
shakespeare
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