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Sonnet 116

 

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 even to the edge of doom.

 

If this be error and upon me proved,

 

        I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 

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WISH I'D SAID THAT

I believe the love Shakespeare spoke of did exist in my lifetime. If it exists today -- and I guess it does -- it's hard to find. We don't see much evidence of it. But until it's rediscovered eroticism will have to do. Doesn't quite satisfy, though, I don't think. ------------ Charlie

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Love it!

...Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds.

 

No one's ever defined love better in one simple sentence.